


The Marauders

by Everliah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 49,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9243623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everliah/pseuds/Everliah
Summary: Perhaps we are just kings,Who once were promised gold.Perhaps we are just boys,Who never got to grow old.Perhaps we are just men,Sent to fight in somebody’s war.Perhaps we are not anything,Though we once were something more.*"We're so distracted by how things end, we usually forget how beautiful the beginning was. Ours was beautiful, don't you think?"*This is their story. It's the story of four boys who were promised the world; it's the story of their reign and their demise, with no distractions at all. It’s the story of how gold doesn’t shine forever, and how youth is only temporary. It’s the story of a war and a life that took everything from four boys who gave their all.This is the story of The Marauders.





	1. Chapter One- Platform 9¾

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Hellooo!! Happy 2017! If you’re here from The Light then prepare yourself for another heart-wrenching Marauders story with the same characterisation. Also, I am reusing a lot of the same scenes and interactions and motifs because they work in the original universe so, though you don’t have to read The Light for this fiction to make sense, there will be many similarities between both stories if you do read them both.
> 
> This is my interpretation of the Marauders’ story, and how I imagine their life blossoming. It will be sad, it will be lovely, and I would love to hear your thoughts and any headcanons or personal ideas that you would like me to include:)
> 
> Please correct me if I make any mistakes for I do want to keep as close to canon as possible.
> 
> I hope you like this, and I hope I do their story justice.
> 
> Everliah
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hellooo!! Happy 2017! If you’re here from The Light then prepare yourself for another heart-wrenching Marauders story with the same characterisation. Also, I am reusing a lot of the same scenes and interactions and motifs because they work in the original universe so, though you don’t have to read The Light for this fiction to make sense, there will be many similarities between both stories if you do read them both.
> 
> This is my interpretation of the Marauders’ story, and how I imagine their life blossoming. It will be sad, it will be lovely, and I would love to hear your thoughts and any headcanons or personal ideas that you would like me to include:)
> 
> Please correct me if I make any mistakes for I do want to keep as close to canon as possible.
> 
> I hope you like this, and I hope I do their story justice.
> 
> Everliah

 

 

**Perhaps we are just kings,**

**Who once were promised gold.**

**Perhaps we are just boys,**

**Who never got to grow old.**

**Perhaps we are just men,**

**Sent to fight in somebody’s war.**

**Perhaps we are not anything,**

**Though we once were something more.**

****

** Chapter One- Platform 9¾ **

****

**September 1971**

                The platform was an explosion of life. He could hear snippets of conversation, floating past him, like snatches of a far-off dream, and laughter rang around the station. Owls hooted, children screamed, parents shouted, and all of it was like the most beautiful orchestra he had ever heard; music to his ears. The horn of the Hogwarts Express danced with it all.

The train was pulled up proudly, a vibrant red that glistened and beamed, and he felt his eyes widen at the sight, the grin pulling his lips before he could stop it. His legs stopped moving.

_“Sirius!”_

He tore his eyes away. His mother was scowling at him. She was a short woman, though her height hardly subtracted from her demanding presence. Her hair was blonde, and scraped back into strict curls that framed her face. Severity made her look older than she was, and her lips were perpetually pruned. She wore a period dress of the darkest purple, heavy with frills and embellishment. Walburga jerked her head, and he followed obediently.

They weaved their way through the throng of people, shoving past families to find a space where they could breathe, without being touched. Eventually, his mother stopped walking when they found his father and brother, standing a little apart from everyone else on the far end of the platform.

Walburga straightened her dress, fixing her curls, and said tightly, “Honestly. Where has the _dignity_ gone? I barely raise my eyes and there are Muggles everywhere! It’s like I cannot breathe without inhaling their mundanity. It’s not right, Orion.”

His father, a tall man of austere countenance whose pale, leathered face had not adorned an expression in years, stood beside his wife, though did not touch her. He was wearing long, dark robes and his hair, of a pitch black, fell to his shoulders, in stark contrast to Walburga’s blonde.

“No, you’re quite right, Walburga,” he replied absently, his equally black eyes were roving the station, hands slipped into black gloves clutching his cane. He didn’t seem too concerned about the fact, however, though Sirius knew his father agreed more ardently than what he was letting on.

Walburga raised a single, fine eyebrow at him, though opted not to comment and instead focused on her eldest son.

He was tall for his age, and wore his eleven years elegantly but boldly. His chin always seemed to be raised in defiance to something, and his eyes, though dark, glimmered with youth. It was like it drenched him, like he could never outgrow it, no matter how many more years dragged him down. Mischief seemed to run through his veins, and he lived and breathed it. The star for which he was named shone brilliantly within him, and outside in the beauty of his face.

“Sirius,” his mother said, and she regarded him over the sharp point of her nose. She was all points and edges, his mother, giving the impression that if you touched her, you’d bleed.

Walburga knelt down in front of him, cupping his cheeks in her cold, bony hands. Sirius had inherited her aristocracy, and it tainted him in the shadows of his cheekbones and length of his eyelashes. The ghost of her lingered in his insolence.

“Your father and I will write to you, and we expect to hear progress reports on how you are doing,” she continued, smoothing his hair back behind his ear. Though not kind, her face was not as harsh as it had been a second ago. "And remember, dear, tell your cousins that they're coming straight from school to our house for Christmas, this year.” He refrained from pulling a face. She added, in a clipped voice that was slow with distaste, "Your Uncle Alphard is also coming for once. He's back in the country, which I'm sure is a surprise, though Salazar knows how long he'll be here for... With any luck, he'll be gone by New Year."

Sirius almost let his excitement show, but he was quick to stamp it down. His ears perked at the word ‘ _cousins_.’ He asked, though careful not to let any hope seep into his voice, “Andromeda too?”

His mother’s face tightened. “Yes. Uncle Cygnus requested. I imagine he thinks she is still susceptible to changing her mind, though your cousin seems to have made her opinions perfectly clear to me. She tarnishes the House of Salazar Slytherin.”

Sirius’ jaw clenched at this, though he simply looked away to avoid saying something he knew he shouldn’t. The train’s horn bellowed, like it was calling to him.

His mother straightened his robes, and her grey eyes were piercing and meaningful. Her lips stretched into a taut smile. She said, “Don’t forget where you come from.”

When Walburga stood back up, she smoothed down her dress, and wrinkled her nose at the children boarding the train.

“I can’t believe the type of filth Dumbledore is letting into that school,” she said coolly. “Cygnus was right. The old coot has let it go to the Muggles, as though they deserve to be there.”

As his mother continued raging, Sirius tuned her out (it was a skill he learnt years ago) and turned to his brother.

He was a small boy, thin and pale, with the same dark hair and eyes. He wasn’t looking at him.

“Regulus,” Sirius said. His brother still didn’t look at him. He moved closer so that they were stood incredibly close. “ _Regulus.”_

Finally, his brother looked at him.

His eyebrows were knitted together, eyes narrowed and hard. His bottom lip jutted slightly out. Sirius sighed.

“I’m not leaving forever,” he told him. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Regulus stared sullenly at him.

“Promise?” he asked after a moment.

Sirius smiled at him. He had never been more sincere when he said, “I promise.”

“Sirius! The train is about to leave,” his mother trilled behind them. “I won’t have you sitting with Mudbloods, simply because you were too late to find an empty compartment-”

He ignored her, however, because he noticed the way Regulus’ face dropped once more. Without another second passing them by, he pulled his younger brother into a bone-crushing hug, squeezing him so tightly it was like they were the same person.

“Don’t forget to practise your reading,” Sirius whispered in his ear.

“I won’t,” said Regulus.

They only broke apart when Walburga swatted the back of Sirius’ head, and he grabbed his trunk and hauled it onto the train. He paused when he boarded, looking back at his family. They were cold and scanty, empty to the eye; Orion stood beside Walburga, his hand on Regulus’ shoulder, holding him back.

Sirius couldn’t say he was sorry to leave them.

Except for Regulus. He would write to Regulus every day.

The Hogwarts Express rolled forward, and he was thrown into the side. He huffed, dragging his trunk away from the window to try and find a compartment. His mother had been right; many were full already, crammed with friends reuniting after a summer apart. Their laughter echoed to him, but Sirius couldn’t bring himself to care. All he wanted was to find a carriage.

Eventually, after a few minutes of searching, and when the platform had become a distant memory, he found an empty one and he opened it and fell inside. Sirius lugged his trunk in, managing somehow (and with great difficulty) to shove it up onto the rafters, before he collapsed on the seat.

His heart was thumping in his chest from the effort, and excitement thrummed through his body. He felt like this was the start of something big- maybe adventure. Maybe the rest of his life.

He closed his eyes. He wasn’t necessarily tired, though he felt like all the years he had spent locked away in Grimmauld Place had drained him. Being away from his family, his mother in particular, felt like being allowed to eat when you had been starved for days. It was like being able to breathe freely for the first time in forever, and Sirius gulped it down. This serenity, this quiet before the storm, where he knew anything could happen, was tense but incendiary. He found he quite liked the feeling of being on the edge, of knowing he could jump or run and nobody could stop him from doing either.

“Excuse me, you don’t mind if I sit in here, do you?” a voice said from the doorway. Sirius didn’t move. Maybe if he thought he was sleeping, he’d go away. The boy frowned. “Are you alive?”

He prodded his foot.

“Yes,” replied Sirius irritably, sitting up completely to take in his companion.

The boy wasn’t _nerdy_ , though he teetered on being so. Square glasses framed his eyes, which were wide and hazel, and his frame was long and thin. He had black messy hair, and Sirius thought he looked like he’d just been electrocuted, or dragged through a hedge backwards, or perhaps both. Simultaneously. Whatever he was, he looked to be struggling with his trunk.

“Here,” Sirius said, getting to his feet to lift the other end of it. “Let me help you.”

Together, in a manoeuvre that no doubt looked as difficult as it was, they succeeded in pushing his trunk onto the rafter, and both dropped onto opposite sides of the compartment. The two boys stared at one another.

“My name’s James, by the way,” the other boy said, holding out his hand. “James Potter.”

Sirius shook it. “Nice to meet you, James. I’m Sirius Orion Black the Third.”

James’ eyes widened theatrically and he repeated, “The _Third?_ I didn’t realise Sirius was such a popular name.”

“My family tend to recycle names,” he shrugged. “There are only so many stars you can name your child after.”

“Really?” James asked incredulously. “Seems like there are a fair few to me.”

“Yes, but then you start running out and get onto ones like Camelopardalis which is just ridiculous.”

“I don’t know, I’d say you look like a Camelopardalis.”

Sirius’ eyes lit up and he grinned at him. James’ face broke into an ear splitting smile. He looked odd when he smiled, Sirius thought, like the very epitome of happiness. It shone as a beacon from his cheeks, starting a spark in his eyes that set his whole being on fire. There was something warm about James.

“Well, Sirius Orion Black the Third,” said James. “I think we should be friends. There’s only one Sirius Orion Black the Third out there, and I’d be proud to call him my friend.”

Sirius felt his chest heat up. He said, “There’s only one James Potter out there too.”

James smiled at him again, though this smile was softer, more crooked and wonky, like the glasses on his nose. “And we can be friends even if we’re not in the same House.”

Sirius felt a sliver of unease coil in his gut. It was like he had been punched.

As soon as he’d stepped onto the platform, all of the fears that had accumulated in the blackest pit of his being seemed to wash away. When he’d first read his Hogwarts letter, Sirius had felt something settle in his bones, some quiet sense of pride and thrill, as though the castle offered him the escape that had always eluded him. And then his mother had stroked his hair and crooned that he was going to make a fine addition to Slytherin, and his dreams died in his mind. It felt like everything was resting on this: Hogwarts would decide his life for him, and what terrified him most was how entirely out of his control it felt. Regardless, Sirius needed hope. He slept with the letter tucked into his pillow and every night, he would dream of walking through the iron gates, through the Great Hall, and the weight of the Sorting Hat as the Professor placed it on his head. He woke up before it had the chance to call out his House. He’d stewed with the anxiety of the Black legacy looming over his head for so long but when he saw the Hogwarts Express, he was swallowed by the excitement at the prospect of being carried far, far away. Now those fears coiled tight, clenching his gut.

James continued, “I personally think I’ll be in Gryffindor, ‘ _where dwell the brave at heart.’_ I’m not really brave, but my dad was in that House, and he’s scared of everything so I think I’ve got a good chance at getting in-”

"My family's all been in Slytherin," Sirius interrupted. He waited for James to recoil in disgust, or inform him that every witch and wizard the hat had placed in Slytherin turned out bad. He waited for his first friend to leave; the smoke of distrust clogging his eyes because of the blood that ran through Sirius' veins, the supremacy he had been brainwashed with since he could talk.

James broke off, sentence left hanging in the air. His hazel eyes were wide behind his glasses, but he said, "Blimey! And I thought you seemed alright!”

“Maybe I’ll break the tradition,” he offered, tampering the hopefulness that sparked inside of him.

“Maybe,” said James. “You strike me like the type that could.”

Sirius lifted his head to look at him, something between awe and disbelief choking him.

“Besides, you’re not really the type of Pureblood elitist Slytherin likes to collect,” he added offhandedly, making Sirius’ heart warm with just one sentence. “You know, my mum was in Ravenclaw, but she said the hat wanted to put her in Slytherin, and she's much better than my dad. Dad's a bit of a nutter really, but Mum always knows what to do-"

And he started rambling again, though Sirius just let him. There was something comforting about the lull of James' voice, and the way his excitement and passion set the air around them on fire. Sirius felt much better. His heart thumped comfortably in his chest.

Being with James reminded him of his Uncle Alphard, and the warm reverberation of his presence, made all the warmer from his mother's clear disgust. On paper, his mother would love James, what with his pure blood, but he was what she'd call a Blood Traitor... She'd most likely howl in pain at the idea of her precious son mingling with such treacheries.

Sirius smirked at the thought. It seemed like this friendship was destiny, like it was written in the stars. Though he wouldn’t dare voice that aloud.

The two boys spoke about everything and by that logic, nothing; they spoke about their hobbies, their favourite books and food, sweets and songs. It turned out that James was a massive Celestina Warbeck fan, which wouldn’t pose too much of a problem. The real test of their blossoming friendship came about when it was revealed that James supported Puddlemere United (most likely because Celestina sung their anthem) whilst Sirius favoured The Chudley Cannons (“But they haven’t won in centuries!” exclaimed James. “That’s the point,” replied Sirius. “If your team isn’t the best, might as well be the worst. Besides, someone needs to support them!”)

Their conversation was interrupted only when the compartment door slid open and two people stood in the corridor.

The girl who was closest had hair of the deepest red, reaching her shoulders, and dark green eyes. Her skin was pale, eyebrows dark and furrowed together concernedly; the dusting of freckles splattered across her cheeks were like constellations. She was already in her Hogwarts uniform.

“I’m really sorry, but can we sit here?” she asked. She had a distinct accent, her sweet voice rich with sprauncy. “The last carriage we were in was too noisy. It was hard to even think.”

James stared at her, then at Sirius, who shrugged. Though he didn’t particularly want company, he supposed he couldn’t well say no, so he bit his tongue to avoid snapping at them and shuffled closer to the window.

The girl’s face cleared, shoulders sagging in relief, and she sat beside James. “Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Lily.”

The smile she sent them was dazzling, and James offered a small one of his own. “James Potter.”

Sirius knew they were both staring at him expectantly, though he merely raised an eyebrow. James’ eyes widened in warning. He swallowed his protests and said, in a bored voice, “Sirius.”

“Like the star?” Lily questioned, green eyes bright with intrigue. “Brightest star in the sky, right?”

He straightened up a tad, and regarded her curiously. “Yes. Exactly.”

The two boys shared a glance, though neither one of them said anything else, nor did they have the chance to because Lily said, “Come on, Severus. Sit down. They don’t bite.”

It was then that they noticed the second person. He, too, was dressed in his uniform, though it did nothing to smudge or lessen the blackness of his demeanour. Lily’s friend had long, greasy hair and a hook nose. His skin was pallid and waxy, and he looked more like a figurine than an actual person, though that may have been accountable for his expressionless face. He slunk into the compartment, sitting as far away from Sirius as feasibly possible.

Sirius didn’t mind.

When it became clear that the boy was not going to introduce himself, Sirius rolled his eyes, shooting James a look. They continued with their conversation, discussing the Quidditch team James had pledged his undying love for.

“They look like they’re wearing mud,” Sirius said disdainfully. “Because they’re shi-”

“They’ve won the British and Irish Quidditch League Cup twenty times,” interrupted James. “Honestly, Cannons should change their motto from ‘ _We shall conquer!_ ’ to ‘ _Let’s just cross our fingers and hope for the best!’”_

Sirius was about to argue, when he broke off, ears catching on the other conversation currently taking place in their carriage.

The boy, the one with the greasy hair and sullen face, was murmuring in a low voice, and even James was watching him.

“-fine. Don’t worry. You’ll be in Slytherin, with me, and we’ll be friends forever-”

“I’m sorry,” said James loudly, and everyone looked at him in surprise. His hazel eyes were wide and incredulous, and he was staring at the boy. “Did you just say she’s going to be in _Slytherin?_ ”

The boy opened his mouth, then closed it. Lily’s cheeks grew pink and she demanded furiously, “Why can’t I be in Slytherin? Just because I’m Muggleborn doesn’t mean I’m any less magical than you-!”

“Because you’re _good,_ ” said James, as if this explained everything in the world. It didn’t, but it shut Lily up. He was still staring at her friend. “You _know_ she’s too good for Slytherin. The Hat would never put her there. It wouldn’t even consider it.”

Sirius didn’t point out that James was contradicting everything he had said before about Houses not mattering. The putrid colour ‘Severus’ was turning was far too amusing. Besides, he figured James had seen something in him that was lacking in Severus Snape. He hoped so, anyway.

The boy seemed to finally find his voice, and he raised an eyebrow at James. His voice was a droning drawl, as though he could scarcely find the effort to waste his breath talking at all, though there was an obvious constriction to his words, like he was spitting out the question. “And what House do _you_ expect to be put in?”

James’ chest swelled and he said defiantly, “Gryffindor, of course. After my father.”

Severus sneered, lip curling. “Gryffindor? That disgrace of a House? Only the rejects go there- those who aren’t ambitious, kind or intelligent enough to go in any of the others.”

“Severus,” said Lily quietly, looking between the two boys. “Just leave it-”

“Yeah, _Snivellus_ ,” snarled Sirius, standing up abruptly. “Why don’t you listen to your girlfriend?”

Lily’s face flushed a bright red, and she glowered at him. She grabbed her friend’s arm and hauled him to his feet. “You know, I think we’ll go find a different compartment. Noisy is much better than _arrogant._ ”

She and Snivellus left with a slam of the door, and the carriage was drenched in silence. James was frowning at the floor.

“I’m not arrogant,” he said.

“Of course you’re not!” exclaimed Sirius, going to sit next to him. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Believe me, that greaseball is trouble. He reminded me of my parents, and they’re not what you’d call nice people… That poor girl doesn’t even realise what sort of a world she’s stepping into, and he’ll be filling her airhead with all sorts of ideas!”

“She won’t be in Slytherin,” said James, taking notice of nothing else. “She’s too good.”

“Where will she be?” Sirius asked.

James shrugged. “I dunno.” He added glumly, “I just hope she’s not in Gryffindor. We haven’t even made it to Hogwarts and already, she hates our guts!”

“Oh well,” said Sirius, jumping back up, and clapping his friend on the back. “That’s what school is for. You make friends, sure, but it’s more fun to make enemies.”

James scrutinised him. “I think that’s the Slytherin in you.”

Sirius froze. There was a knock on the compartment door and he spun round, tripping on his robes and flying into the glass. James howled with laughter.

“And there’s the Hufflepuff.”

Sirius shot him a glare but righted himself and flicked his robe behind him, before he slid open the door-

“Hello. I’m awfully sorry to disturb you, but do you mind if we sit here?”

There were two boys standing in the hallway. The one that had spoken was almost washed out, pale and fading, and flimsy enough that the movement of the train beneath his feet threatened to upheave him. He had shaggy golden hair and amber eyes and a lick of an accent to his words, though he spoke so quietly that Sirius couldn’t yet place it. If Sirius had blinked, he would have missed the second boy, cowering behind the first. He was smaller, and dumpy, with watery blue eyes and large ears that protruded from the side of his head and he gave Sirius the impression that he would very much like the earth to swallow him whole, if only it opened wide enough.

James raised his eyebrows. “Are you aware your ears are spotty yellow?”

The smaller boy looked like he might cry. The taller said, matter-of-fact, “Yes. The older boys seem to find it amusing to turn him different colours.”

As if on cue, a spell whizzed from somewhere further down the train, ricocheting off the windows. The smaller boy jumped out of his skin. The taller never even flinched.

“Oh,” Sirius said. “Now they’re purple.”

“Come on,” said James kindly, coaxing them to sit down. He said, “What are your names?”

“P-Peter,” the smaller boy with the purple ears managed to get out. “Peter Pettigrew.”

James smiled at him. “Well, Peter Pettigrew, I’m James Potter and this here, is-”

“Sirius Orion Black the Third,” finished Sirius, shutting the door and sitting back down.

“He’s the first Black to ever be sorted into Gryffindor.”

Sirius looked at him, but James didn’t even seem to notice. Peter offered him a shaky smile. He reached up to touch his ear, wincing when it smarted a bit. James watched him.

“Do you want me to fix those for you?” he asked. Peter looked at him with wide, eager eyes and nodded fervently.

James retrieved his wand and though Sirius had the utmost faith in his new friend, he still shuffled slightly out of the way. Just in case.

James said, in a clear voice, “Finite Incantatum.”

Miraculously, Peter’s ears returned to their normal colour and the relief was thick and tangible in the air between them.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully, impressed.

"Dad taught me," James explained, but he seemed bashful at the fact. "When I got my wand, the only thing it could do is change things multi-coloured. On accident, I swear! I'd be scratching my nose and the next thing I know, it's bloody pink and six inches long! Mum found it hilarious. She refused to turn it back for a week! Eventually, Dad said he couldn't stand the sight of me looking like a Niffler so he changed it and taught me the counter spell."

"A Niffler?" Peter asked, frowning.

James nodded seriously. "Yeah. Right sneaky things. Dad loved them, wanted one for a pet for ages but when he finally got one, it stole all his money and ran off. Bloody mole. He was just lucky it couldn't get into the safe, otherwise Mum would've killed him!"

Peter laughed, and he squealed a little bit when he gasped for breath, Sirius noticed, like a mouse. The smaller boy seemed relaxed now and he melted into the seat. The taller boy had sat down quietly and watched both James and Peter with a small smile. He was already in his Hogwarts robes, and Sirius saw that, much like the boy who wore them, they were fraying at the edges.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The boy smiled but it was a little strained at the corners. Sirius pretended not to notice. “Remus Lupin.”

Sirius smiled courteously, holding out his hand. “Well, Remus Lupin. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sirius.”

“The first Black to be sorted into Gryffindor,” said Remus. “Or so I’m told.”

There was something so unassuming about him, something that Sirius couldn’t put his finger on. He liked this boy. He didn’t know why yet, or if his gut feeling was right, but there was something about the way Remus would smile the smallest of smiles, and yet it would still find a way to light up his eyes.

They continued their conversation, laughing so loudly Sirius was convinced they could hear it at the opposite side of the train. It turned out Peter was rather funny in a conventional kind of way, with an inexhaustible store of jokes, though he couldn’t say that he would have picked the meek and jumpy boy for a friend under normal circumstances. Remus was quieter. He trembled when it got silent.

The trolley witch was the only thing to break their euphoria, sliding back the door to ask if they wanted anything sweet. Peter looked tempted but he emptied his pockets and all that fell onto the cushion beside him was a squashed cheese sandwich, a spool of wool and a penny. Remus eyed the chocolate but glanced out the window quickly.

James noticed. He dipped into his robes and pulled out a handful of galleons. “Can we have a bit of everything?”

Peter gaped. The trolley witch took James’ money and handed the boys their sweets. James immediately handed Remus the bar of chocolate.

“I can pay for this-” began Remus.

James waved a hand and gave him a chocolate frog. “It’s my treat to you. All of you. For making the train journey bearable.”

Sirius watched as his friend dove into his own chocolate frog, more concerned with the free card so he didn’t see his frog jump onto the window and slip away with the wind.

“Oh,” James complained. “Flamel! I’ve got about ten of him!”

Sirius didn’t think he realised the impact his wealth had. He threw it away as though it was nothing more than bird seed to be scattered. Walburga would riot if Sirius so much as thought about touching their money for anything of the sort.

The boys carried on, though this time with sugar. James told them about the time he flew his broom all the way over Dorking and the Muggles in the village swore they saw an alien.

Sirius stared out the window. “We need to get into our robes. We’ll be arriving soon.”

“How do _you_ know?” James demanded sceptically, though he got to his feet and started pulling his trunk down.

Sirius shrugged. “Intuition. Call it a… feeling.” He didn’t quite know how else to describe it, only that it started in his bones and spread outwards in every direction. “Besides, I’ve been staring at your ugly mug for hours. I don’t think I can take much more!”

The only response he got was one of James’ socks to his face, and he stared at the owner in offence before he threw himself at him and the pair of them went down on the compartment floor, rolling over one another, play fighting, and laughing, because they were just kids, and kids were allowed to have fun. Peter laughed at the pair of them. Remus rolled his eyes.

Sure enough, whatever _feeling_ Sirius had, he was right, and the Hogwarts Express rolled into Hogsmeade station with a final toot of the horn within the hour. The four boys, all fully dressed, jumped off the train, lugging their trunks behind them. They dragged them over to the side, out of the way of the older students, who were bustling by.

The greasy boy, Snivellus, still managed to barge into James, sending him flying over his trunk. Sirius scowled at him.

“Is it just me or does he strike you as a major prick pudding?” Remus asked, lips pursed.

Sirius let out a bark of surprised laughter. He didn’t think he’d ever hear such vulgar words slip from someone as ordinary and golden as Remus Lupin. James choked on his annoyance.

“You’re Welsh, aren’t you?” said James. “That’s where I’ve heard that accent before!”

“Half,” admitted Remus. “On my mother’s side.”

Sure enough, Sirius heard the trip of his tongue over certain sounds. There was something charming about it.

“Where do we even go?” Peter questioned, wiping his sleeve along his forehead.

“I’m sure they’ll send someone to collect us,” said Remus. Sirius glanced at him, and although he seemed calm, Remus was holding his trunk so tightly his knuckles were turning white. He was shaking.

But Peter didn’t reply. He was staring just past them, and could only point silently to something behind him. James frowned, following his finger. His eyes widened and they started at his boots, as large as dogs, dragging up to his moleskin jacket, tangled beard until he was craning his neck back to take in the kind and mellowed face of the man stood in front of him.

"You're _giant!"_ he exclaimed in awe.

Hagrid said, "Half, actually."

James' eyebrows pulled together and he cocked his head, but Hagrid didn't give him chance to ask any questions.

He waved the lamp in the air, shouting, "Firs' years! This way, please! Firs' years, over 'ere!"

“Excuse me, sir,” said Lily, coming up to stand beside James. She shot him a nasty glare, and he decidedly looked in the other direction.

“Made friends, I see,” said Remus. Sirius grimaced.

Lily’s face softened with wonder when she switched her attention to Hagrid. “What do we do with our trunks?”

Hagrid looked down at her, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Why, I’ve- er, never been called sir before,” he said, almost embarrassedly. His thick accent clipped his words. “Leave yer trunks! Someone’ll worry about ‘em. Firs’ years, this way!”

When the rest of the school had disappeared, and only a sizable crowd of first years remained, Hagrid said, “My name is Rubeus Hagrid and I am the Keeper o’ Keys at Hogwarts. I’ll be takin’ yer to the school so if you’ll follow me.”

They all reluctantly abandoned their trunks on the platform, and followed him a little way further down the hill to the banking of a black lake. The crescent moon stared longingly at itself in the surface, and the stars twinkled with each ripple of water. Remus glanced at the water but his eyes skirted way just as quickly. Sirius made sure to stay close to him just in case he fell in.

The first years stopped when they saw what was waiting for them.

“Now, no more than four to a boat, please! And make sure yer stay still,” the Groundskeeper said loudly. Then said in his normal voice, “Can’t ‘ave anyone drowin’ already.”

“Oh, that fills me with confidence,” James said in a high voice. Sirius just grinned at him.

Just as they were about to climb into the little rowing boats, Hagrid added, “Oh, an’ keep yer hands an’ feet inside the boat at all times. Don’t know what blighters lurk in those depths.”

James’ eyes widened and he gulped. Sirius couldn’t hold back his snort of amusement.

“I read there are Merpeople down there,” a girl said. She had brown hair and eyes, and tanned skin that suggested she grew up somewhere warmer than England for the English sun could never be so kind.

Hagrid nodded wisely. Lily watched the exchange, and her eyes lit up.

“Merpeople?” she asked. “Like Muggle mermaids?”

“Well, yeh, I suppose,” replied Hagrid, scratching at his chin. “If Muggle mermaids rip yer face off if yer get too close.”

Lily’s eyes widened. Her hope dropped.

The boat ride was somehow smoother, and less traumatic, than what Hagrid had set it up to be. A lantern stretched from the middle of each boat, lighting the way and casting a yellow glow on the water. Lily kept her eyes fixedly ahead of her.

The castle came into view in an instant; one second, there was only the shadow of night, and in the next, Hogwarts towered above them. It was like magic. The many turrets were littered with orange windows, little pinpricks of fire, so tall they looked to pierce the stars. It sat atop sloping lawns, kissed by forest and lake, wearing the sky as a crown. The mountain range enveloped the school, and it really was such a magnificent sight. There was something that rendered you breathless about it, something that invoked a speechlessness so profound you could think only one thing:

_Home._

_I am home._

The inside was no less grand than its exterior, and the stone walls, lined with torches in rusted brackets, were vast and yet oddly cosy. As they were led through the castle, their eyes tried to take in as much of it as they possibly could, despite knowing they’d get the chance to explore properly later. Everything was ancient and interesting and magical. It all made you feel like you belonged there.

Sirius had not expected it to be like this.

They were stopped by a tall, thin woman, with grey hair tied back in a bun that was tighter than his mother’s curls, and face aged with deep lines. There was a knowing glint in her eyes, however, and her Scottish accent left no room for discussion. In all honestly, he barely listened to a word she said, for his eyes could find only portrait and statue and-

Was that a ghost?

And then, suddenly, the wooden doors behind her were opening and they were walking down the middle of the Great Hall, between the tables that were swarmed with students. Sirius noticed his cousins immediately.

There was Narcissa, sitting beside Lucius Malfoy. He had only met Lucius once, at a dinner party, and he knew that they’d been betrothed since the day it was known Cygnus Black was having a daughter and Abraxas Malfoy was having a son. They both had hair of the whitest gold, and their eyes were icy blue. Really, they could’ve been related. Sirius almost snorted because they probably were. Narcissa was watching him coolly and she raised a blonde eyebrow when he met her gaze.

His eyes found Andromeda next and his heart warmed at the sight of her. She was in her final year at Hogwarts and was the polar opposite of her younger sister. Her hair was light brown, falling midway down her back, and her eyes were dark but kind. She was very pretty but it was a different kind of pretty to Narcissa. Whilst the latter exhibited a sort of untouchable beauty, Andy was the very definition of lovely, with high cheekbones and fair skin but a humbleness too. Though her tie was Slytherin, her ideals were anything but. Sirius admired her with all his heart. _She_ was his favourite.

They stopped at the edge of a dais where, just in front of the teachers’ table, there was a three-legged stool with a mouldy hat sat upon it. He wrinkled his nose at the sight of it. For such a prestigious tradition, he thought it would’ve been better taken care of, maybe washed now and again. Or would washing it remove its magic?

Professor McGonagall retrieved a scroll of parchment, and lifted the hat up. She began to read off names, though none that particularly caught his interest, and one by one, the first years all ascended the stairs, let the teacher put the Sorting Hat on their head and joined the table of the house they had been allocated. As they went down the list, he felt his stomach churn and whirl, and he swallowed thickly, wiping his sweating hands on his trousers and hoping nobody saw.

_“Sirius Black.”_

This was it. Though he knew his name would have to be called eventually, he wished he had a few more minutes. He already knew where the hat was going to put him, and he wanted a few more of James’ smiles to drown in, a few more untouched moments of being gold.

Still, he strode to the stool, grin easy but forced on his face (not that anyone could tell). James seemed to see through him. He was watching him with a deceptively straight face, but the colour had all but drained from his cheeks and his eyes were keen and creased with worry.

“Ah,” the hat crooned, and Sirius almost jumped. He hadn’t expected it to talk. “There’s a lot in your head, Mr Black. You’re the latest in a very long line to wear me, and I’ve always had an easy decision with your kind… But you seem hesitant… You know Slytherin is where you ought to be.”

“Is it?” he whispered bitterly.

The hat hummed in thought. “You don’t agree?”

Sirius kept quiet, not daring to answer, though it was fruitless. The old thing could see inside his head- what was the point of talking? He caught Remus’ eye and the boy looked like he was going to be sick, but he still managed to nod his head just once, and Sirius knew he’d be okay.

“I stand by that decision, Mr Black. Slytherin is where you ought to be...” Sirius could feel the stares of the other students like they were burning holes into his skin and he wanted to just get it over with. His heart felt like it might leap from his chest. The disappointment and dread had settled itself deep within him, before the hat said something else, “And yet, it is not where you belong… In that case, better make it… **GRYFFINDOR!** ”

The Great Hall was silent. In that stolen minute, you could hear a pin drop. McGonagall lifted the hat from his head, though Sirius was glued to the stool. She gave him a little nudge, and he swore he saw the hint of a smile. He started walking numbly to the Gryffindor table, who were rendered just as shocked and numb as the rest of the school.

He chanced a glance at Slytherin. Narcissa’s eyes were wide, her face looked whiter than usual. A few seats down, Andy was trying to hide a grin, though he could see right through her. Sirius smiled.

James was the first to react. He started clapping. Loudly. Pride shone in the hazel of his eyes, and Sirius grinned at him as he passed. The smile he got back was full of pure awed bewilderment; it was like all they needed was a spark for the Gryffindor table _exploded_. Peter got caught up in the hysteria, following the crowd. Remus was clapping politely but Sirius saw the smirk.

When Sirius sat down, he had older students shaking his hand and patting him on the back and introducing themselves, though he was deaf to it all. He felt like he was engulfed in a whirlwind, and he didn’t care about how his mother would react, though he knew it would be bad, nor what the school would think about the first Black _not_ to be sorted into Slytherin. He was too happy, too euphoric, too free. Still in line, James caught his eye and grinned at him.

All Sirius could do was grin back.

Remus and Peter were both sorted into Gryffindor too. Peter looked as though he was going to pass out and the Professor had to pat his back to send him on his way. Remus was a bit more controlled, but he collapsed onto the bench and Sirius wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He convinced himself it was to congratulate him but when the other boy sagged, his arm remained.

_“James Potter.”_

His friend went white as a sheet. Sirius watched him, for some reason wanting nothing more than to clap him on the back and tell him to have faith- if he was as much of a Gryffindor as he claimed, if his heart was as red as it was golden, then destiny would sing its song and the rest would be history. It had already connected the thread to Peter and Remus, but there was a loose end. James seemed to feel this, and he glanced over. Sirius swallowed but nodded. James nodded back. He took a deep breath and walked confidently up to sit on the stool.

If he hadn’t known him for little under a day, Sirius wouldn’t have seen the worry swimming behind his wonky glasses, but he had and so he did. There was nothing to worry about though, for the hat didn’t even brush his hair when it cried, “ **GRYFFINDOR**!”

Their table was definitely the loudest, and it roared as James, grinning in relief, joined them. He winked at Sirius as he sat down next to Peter, and the euphoria came back tenfold. Vaguely, Sirius wondered how many of James Potter’s smiles he would drown in. He could feel the buzz from his new friend, charged and electric, reaching out to breach the space between them, and wondered how gold his own heart must be.

It was only when the boy from the train, Snivellus, was called that he tuned back in.

The hat had barely touched the top of his greasy head before it called, “ **SLYTHERIN**!”

The table on the far end of the hall cheered, though there was a definitive unresponsiveness from the rest of the hall. A jovial, walrus-like man sat at the top table clapped cheerfully. James muttered, “Shock,” under his breath.

He spied the slight frown sewing his friend’s eyebrows together, and the dark eyes that followed Snape all the way to the Slytherin table, and nudged his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said. Sirius looked at him and his face cleared. James offered him a small, wonky smile. “You broke tradition. I told you you could.”

And Sirius had never felt so sure of anything as he did in that moment, with James Potter looking at him like that, like anything was possible, and Peter Pettigrew laughing and squeaking, and the warmth of Remus Lupin against his body, but he knew his blood was red and his veins were golden and they would be for a long time to come.

**oOo**

Much later on, the four boys sat in the corner of the Gryffindor Common Room. It was a small space, with everything the colour of crimson and embellishments of gold. The fire was crackling in the grate, casting everyone in a warm, orange glow.

“Honestly, it took _ages_ to sort you,” James told him. Peter nodded vehemently. “Was it, you know, saying stuff to you?”

Sirius swallowed. “Yeah.”

James leaned forward and whispered, “Like what?”

“It said I ought to be in Slytherin, but I don’t belong there,” he said. James’ eyes widened, and he pushed his glasses further up his nose. Peter gulped.

“I don’t think it’s ever taken that long,” he said. Then, sensing the unease his friend seemed to be feeling, added, “You may be the third Sirius Orion, but you’re the first Black ever to be in Gryffindor. That’s got to mean something, right?”

Sirius pulled a face, suddenly unconcerned. “Like what?” he demanded, unconvinced.

“Well I dunno!” said James. “Maybe it’s destiny.”

Sirius rolled his eyes dramatically and started wailing, making a long, irritating sound as he flopped onto the side of the armchair he was sitting on. He neglected to remember that he had thought the same thing mere hours ago.

“What?” James asked.

Sirius didn’t reply, merely continued making the noise. He covered his face with his hands.

“What!”

“I can’t believe I’ve made best friends with a _ponce!_ A ponce who believes in _destiny_! You know, they’re the _worst_ -”

James threw a pillow at him.

“For this friendship to work, you have to stop throwing things at me,” Sirius said solemnly. James went to throw another pillow but Sirius kicked out his leg to deflect it.

“You alright, Pete?” asked James once he’d given up his assault. “You’re a bit quiet.”

Peter was frowning deeply. He pulled a face and said, haltingly, “Does Dumbledore’s beard really come off at night or does he just magic it on every morning?”

The two boys stared at him.

Sirius clapped James’ shoulder, getting to his feet. “Well, James, I’m going to leave this one to you. I have- stuff to do.”

James made a noise but Sirius managed to escape into their dormitory, barely keeping his laughter in. The commotion of the Common Room cut off rather abruptly and he was doused instead in the serenity of the darkness. All the curtains were already closed.

Remus appeared from the bathroom. He stopped and offered Sirius a small smile when he noticed him. “I thought I’d better unpack.”

Sirius swallowed.

 “Do you want some help?” he asked.

Remus looked at him in surprise, moving over to the chest of drawers by the furthest bed on the right, opposite the bathroom. “Oh no,” he said. “It’s fine, thank you-”

Sirius ignored him. He shouldered off his cloak and threw it onto the next bed over before moving to stand beside Remus. He reached into the other boy’s trunk to pull out a pair of socks which he folded in the same way Remus was doing.

Remus just stared at him.

“Well, come on,” said Sirius. “I don’t want to end up folding all of your manky socks.”

Remus scoffed. “They’re not manky.”

It was yet another one of those surprising expressions that Sirius hadn’t expected of him, and even the boy looked startled to hear it. They stared at one another for a second or two, before Remus hastily looked away, hiding his face. Sirius wished he wouldn’t.

"I have scars too, you know," he said.

Remus froze, hands pausing in the air. He looked at him, and those very scars were prominent in the starlight. His golden eyes were wide and afraid.

Sirius stopped, looking back at him. He noticed the other boy had freckles too.

He said, "I know a spell that hides them. If you want."

Remus didn't reply, lips parted as though he had been struck silent, and every word lay forgotten on the tip of his tongue. After a moment, he swallowed, shaking himself, and nodded. He licked his lips nervously. "Yes please."

Sirius slid his hand into his pocket, drawing it, and Remus didn’t close his eyes, but kept them fixed on him as he said, “ _Celaverimus.”_

The smooth skin of his face knitted over the scars, sewing away as though creating a blanket to cover them up with. Neither one of them moved until the breathless whisper of magic faded, and Remus lifted his trembling hands up to touch his face. His eyebrows creased, hope plummeting.

Sirius saw it all happen and was quick to say, “You can still feel them because they’re still there. The spell only covers them up. I can’t see them anymore.”

“Really?” Remus asked.

“Really. Your face is as fresh as a baby’s,” he replied, trying to crack a smile. “It was the only spell I could do. The healing stuff was too complicated.”

Remus did indeed smile, and it was genuine, this time. Though still small, there was a smudge to the expression which Sirius quite liked. “Thank you.”

Sirius shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

“No,” said Remus, frowning. “There must be something I can do to pay you back. I- anything.”

He considered this for a moment, before saying simply, “Be my friend.”

Remus blinked. “Pardon?”

“Be my friend,” said Sirius.

He was still sceptical, evident in his narrowed eyes, but there was something melted about it, as he gauged the sincerity of the request.

“Are you being serious?” he asked.

“Technically, I’m always Sirius.”

Remus’ eyes widened in horror at the pun, as though he couldn’t quite believe Sirius had said it, but Sirius just grinned. Then, a short laugh escaped Remus’ lips, and another, until he was laughing properly. It was breathless and high-pitched and completely unguarded. Sirius just watched him. Finally, Remus smiled and nodded. “Okay. I’ll be your friend.”

They continued to fold socks. After a moment, Sirius said, “Is that why you were so nervous?”

Remus froze. He was imperceptible. But Sirius was good at reading people- he’d gotten good at it over the years with his mother, gauging when she was going to blow and at what point he needed to run. He read his brother like a book. Remus swallowed and Sirius heard it.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, starting on the shirts when he ran out of socks. He didn’t know why he was still folding. “I just- I was nervous too.”

Remus fumbled with his clothes and a shirt slipped onto the floor. He didn’t stoop to pick it up. “I’m fucking terrified,” he whispered.

“Why?” Sirius whispered back.

Remus looked at him. He was holding back tears, Sirius realised. He shook his head slightly and said, “I just didn’t think I’d make any friends.”

“Remus,” Sirius laughed. “You called a boy a- a prick pudding!” The swear tasted foreign but it also made him giddy. “How could we not like you?”

“I’m glad you have such low expectations,” said Remus, but his relief was tangible and his entire face lit up with that light in his golden eyes.

Sirius shook his head. “That’s not it. You’re just much more extraordinary than you realise.”

**oOo**

When Sirius lay in bed later that night, the darkness seemed to wrap around him like a warm embrace, not a shroud for monsters, lurking in corners. There was a warmth to everything, a sense of purpose to each breath. He could hear Peter snoring over by the bathroom, and in the next bed over, James was a mound of blankets, dead to the world, barely distinguishable unless he squinted. Remus slept more fitfully, occasionally kicking out, and he wondered what he was dreaming about.

This was odd, he thought. Sirius had never felt cushioned like this, protected.

He thought maybe the Sorting Hat had a point. Maybe this was where he belonged. Maybe this was home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: No hate to Hufflepuffs. My sister and best friend are Hufflepuffs and I love to tease them. I’ve changed this up since I first wrote it because one of my friends (the aforementioned Hufflepuff) told me he always imagined the four boys met on the train and that’s why Remus took the train back to Hogwarts as a Professor- because it made him feel closer to his best friends.


	2. Chapter Two- All the Gold Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Okay, I’ve changed it all. I know it might be annoying as it means you have to start over, but luckily it’s only chapter two!! I feel like this will work better, and it means that we see lots of crucial, canon moments, but I also can progress with the plot a lot sooner and not rush anything or risk falling into a slow pace that bores you. Tell me what you think!! Thank you for sticking with me, despite the haywire confusion that is my brain!!!
> 
> THIS IS ALL CANON EVENTS, RETOLD BY ME. THE EVENTS, WORLD AND CHARACTERS BELONG TO JKR.

** Chapter Two- All the Gold Between **

** **

**July 1976**

****

The roar of euphoria was deafening, spilling from grinning lips and erupting from horns and clappers that crackled every time someone ragged them above their heads. Students decked out in red and gold made their way up the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, feeling the familiar buzz of triumph settle in their veins and thanking their lucky stars that, whilst Slytherin might have caught the snitch, James Potter existed to grasp victory in the firm hold of his Chaser's gloves, reigniting their reign every time he potted the Quaffle through the hoops.

"Potter! We're going to crack open McKinnon's Firewhisky stash- you coming?" Davey Gudgeon yelled, hanging back and beaming like a lunatic.

James ran a hand through his hair. It was windswept, made cold from the rush of air that had breathed life into it just moments before. The grin sparking at his lips was legendary.

"No, I'm not drinking tonight," he said, adjusting his grip on his broom and jogging backwards to the changing rooms. He twirled around, cape kissing his ankles, and called, as an afterthought, "But save me some! I might change my mind."

He couldn't hear the reply over the din of his House, still cheering and chanting and singing songs about lions and snakes. His heart was thudding dangerously quick in his chest, beating so hard against his ribcage he was half-scared it would squeeze through the bone and pop out of his body completely. It would be easy enough to find it, James thought. If it wasn’t lounging in his Common Room with his brothers, it would be underneath the stars, spread out on the pitch he was leaving now. Or sidling up to a certain redhead, with absolutely no qualms about being rejected for the third time this year.

He winced at that, unstrapping the dragon hide gloves from his hands once he shouldered open the door into the changing room. It was empty. Sirius must’ve already buggered off to meet the others. James huffed an affronted laugh at the thought.

His ears were still ringing, and he shook his head to try and regain some sense of reality. Life always seemed to stop when he was flying; the wind would continue, patting his back as it raced on by, cheering his name and planting cold, sobering kisses on his skin. The ground would shrink below him, and the sky would beckon invitingly, stretched out like a wide, blue promise. He never knew what exactly it was promising, but he vowed to find out. One day, James would take to the skies and he’d never return.

“Honestly, Prongs, you’d think you were moisturising with how long it takes you to get fucking dressed!” exclaimed Sirius Black from the doorway.

James whirled round to grin at him.

Sirius had already shrugged out of his Quidditch robes, though he remained in the cream leggings and Gryffindor striped jumper; his boots were laced up to his knee, hair still somehow impeccably in place (a feat James never seemed to manage, even when he tried) and arms folded across his broad chest.

“Perhaps if some bloody prat hadn’t left me, I’d be ready sooner,” James replied indignantly.

Sirius pushed himself off the doorframe. “We both know that’s a lie,” he said. “You’d purposely take longer to punish me for not redirecting the Bludger Pucey aimed at you.”

James scowled at that, reaching up absently to stroke the whisper of a bruise left on his arm. “That fucking hurt,” he murmured.

“I don’t doubt it,” responded Sirius, eyes glinting with amusement as they surveyed his friend. “That’s kind of the point of them, is it not?”

“Then what’s your job?” James inquired. “To fly there and look pretty?”

Sirius brushed his hair from his eyes, lavishly extending his arms. “Well, if you must know-”

“Shut up, Black.”

The two boys shared a secret grin, eyes meeting in an incendiary collision of euphoric momentum. They were both burning.

"A certain redhead looked awfully pleased when you winked at her today," commented Sirius, idly picking at something under his fingernail.

James tried to keep his voice neutral, though his ears perked up regardless. "Oh?"

"Yes. And a certain greasy haired bat couldn't look more disdainful if he tried. He set Peter's robes on fire again you know. Just before the match started."

"Oh."

James felt a frown pull at his face.

"Don't worry, Remus managed to put him out before the fire could spread," assured Sirius. "But still... it's more the fact this is the eighth time he's gotten in our way just this month. Really, Snivellus needs to be put down."

"He gets as good as he gives," James reminded him softly.

Sirius spluttered in outrage. "We retaliate. It's called defending your honour, James. Something that the Snake clearly doesn't have-!"

"Still," James sighed, running his fingers through his hair again. Sirius' eyes followed the action. He often pondered on whether his friend's hair was just naturally as stubborn and stuck up as it was, or whether years of worrying it like that had caused it to remain fixed in position from pure habit.

"Don't tell me you're starting to feel sorry for Snape," he said finally, tearing his eyes away.

James shot him a look that obviously implied he was barmy. "Of course not." He started pulling off his helmet and chest gear. "He chose his path. We chose ours. I don't want to be affiliated any more than I have to with someone who dabbles in the Dark Arts for fun."

Sirius was quiet for a moment, and all that could be heard was James' occasional scuffle and huffed swearing as he struggled to disrobe.

"Leaves no question about whether he's going to join that Anti-Muggle group on the rise, does it?" Sirius asked finally. His tone was flat and it seemed he wasn't really asking at all, more stating it as fact.

James paused. "I just don't get what Lily sees in him," was all he said, before dropping the subject entirely.

It didn’t take him long to shove his broom and gear into a locker, planning to return for them later, and he and Sirius left the changing room, hearts still fluttering with the excitement of flying and the thrill of victory. James slung an arm around his friend, dragging him close. Though Sirius was tall, he could still fit snugly under James’ chin and the latter seemed to enjoy hauling him into his side and laying his cheek against the top of Sirius’ head. Sirius would allow himself to melt for just a second, eyes closing in the embrace, before he would wrench away, indignantly spluttering that he was a man! _Goddamnit! A tall, six foot man who would not be namby-pambied! But- no, James don’t leave-_

They made their way across the grounds, separating from the few stragglers still meandering up to the castle from the pitch, and bee-lined to their tree by the Black Lake. It was tucked away, not necessarily secret as the tree was visible from almost any window you bothered to look out of. Even so, the Marauders had claimed it as their own, occupying the small grassy mound, where the lake lapped the flowers and the sun soaked into the naked branches of the spindle tree. It seemed to have been charmed, for it was the only tree, in the whole of Hogwarts, that shivered in summer and bloomed bright, beautiful flowers in winter.

Sure enough, they could see the other two of their group lounging in the shade of it, and sped up their pace to meet them.

“Did you get waylaid in the changing room or were you just that drunk on victory that you lost your senses?” questioned Remus Lupin, not even bothering to open his eyes when their shadows blocked out the sun. He was laying on his back, hands cushioning the crown of his head.

Peter offered them a wave from where he was stood at the water’s edge, skimming stones across the shimmering black surface of the lake, trousers rolled up to his knees.

“Both, since you asked,” replied Sirius. “James attacked me as soon as I walked through the door. It was passionate and steamy. I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Lovely,” Remus cracked an eye open at that, regarding him distastefully. “That was just the image I needed to pervade my mind on this fine day.”

Sirius grinned at him. “What can I say? It’s a service.”

James shook his head, throwing himself down beside Remus. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a rather rumpled looking Snitch. It fluttered its crushed wings, stretching them languidly, and he let it go, watching with keen eyes as it sped around his head, before his hand shot out and he caught it again. Remus’ eyes followed the action, before he turned his head away and scoffed.

“School property, James,” he reminded. “I could report you for this.”

He tapped the glowing Prefect badge pinned to his robes.

“But you won’t. I’m making the most of my resources. As a Prefect, would you dare get in the way of education?”

"I'm not sure how that works."

James merely sent him a dazzling grin, before making a grand show of releasing the snitch again. Remus rolled his eyes.

Sirius sat down beside the pair of them, stretching his legs out and tipping his head back. The sun beamed down on him, warming his face with ephemeral bliss. He felt his joints ache and clench from the match, and his heart beat steadily against his chest. He could hear a bird singing nearby and the gentle skip of the stones Pete sent flying across the lake, tripping over the dark water. Sirius could feel all of life's intricacies as though they were a part of him; the water trickled through his veins, the sun blushed his cheeks, each of Peter's stones dropping down his gullet and thudding against his ribcage, in tune to the beating of his heart.

He opened his eyes, and looked around. James was leaning against the tree, head back as his eyes followed the little snitch as it buzzed around him. Occasionally, his hand would dart out to catch it, but he mainly sat still and watched it fly, a pensive expression softening his angular face.

Sirius' eyes fell on Remus then. His friend was looking worse for wear, more tired than usual, with purple crescents weighing down his eyes and white skin. Something snagged in Sirius' throat and he swallowed thickly to clear it.

He knew what night it was. They all knew. Though the topic barely left their lips, it haunted each of them and had done since third year. Sirius didn't know his class timetable, but he knew every moon cycle.

"You're staring at me," Remus murmured suddenly.

Sirius jumped and looked jerkily away. Remus' eyes peeked open. His lips quirked upward, but there was a minuscule strain that made his smirk resemble more of a grimace.

“I don’t mind,” he added and in a dry voice said, “I have been told I am a wonder to look upon.”

Sirius snorted. "You sound like me," he noted in amusement.

Remus only looked mildly offended before his face split into a grin. There was no hint of pain this time. "You've rubbed off on me."

"Please, _you_ rubbed off on _me_ more like!" Sirius exclaimed. "I thought for sure your angelic, innocent act was legitimate. And then not two days later, you'd blown up Nott's cauldron for calling Evans a Mudblood!"

"Don't mistake angelic for just, Padfoot. The two are very different."

They stared at one another for a moment, a slight crease between Sirius' eyebrows as he regarded his friend.

"Hey, Prongs!" yelled Peter abruptly, and Remus tore his eyes away.

James caught the snitch easily and looked at their fourth friend. "Yeah, Pete?"

Peter grinned. His bulbous cheeks, red from the heat of summer, lit up in pride and he waved the stone in his hand up in the air and said, "Watch this."

Screwing his face up in concentration, he flicked his wrists a few times before stopping and shifting his grip on the slim stone in his hand. Then, he swung his arm back and it went flying across the water.

One.

Two.

Three.

James sat up straighter.

Four.

Five.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

Six.

Seven.

Sirius' mouth dropped open.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten and the stone sunk.

Peter spun around, eyes alight with obvious glee. He held his short arms out and said, "What was that? _‘Oh, Peter, you’re so talented and exceptional at throwing stones. I’m so lucky to be your friend!’?”_

Remus let out a small laugh and commented, “Because throwing stones really wins you the ladies, Peter. You should show your impressive skills off to Mary someday.”

“You mean, when he finally manages to speak to her,” said James, raising his eyebrows. Peter blushed, arms dropping back to his side.

"What about you and Evans?" he demanded, but there was no real heat to it, more of a stammer.

James frowned, and he released the snitch, lulling it into a false sense of security; four eyes tracked it then-

His hand closed around it tightly, and the feathers shivered from between his fingers.

There was a moment of silence and then James held it up cockily for them all to see, and said, "She's warming to me. You just wait. I'm going to marry Evans if it's the last thing I do."

"Judging by her contempt for you, marrying her _would_ be the last thing you'd ever do," rationed Remus, pushing himself up. He winced, and Sirius fought the urge to reach out and stabilise him.

"Yeah, she'd murder you on your honeymoon," added Peter, once he stepped out of the water and started making his way towards them. Sirius slid his wand from his pocket and cast a drying charm on his legs, earning a grateful grin from him as he tumbled to the floor with them and began rolling his trousers back up.

The four boys sat there, basking in the summer sun, wishing this was a carelessness they could afford to drown themselves in. Alas, it was not.

“Are you ready for tonight?” asked James delicately. His eyes remained adamant on the snitch, but the worry creasing them was obvious.

Remus didn’t say anything for a moment, just continued to stare up at the branch-fractured sky, face blank as a slate, before he said, “I don’t think I will ever be ready for it.”

And the conversation was left at that.

It was only hours later, when the sky began getting streaked with oranges and pinks that they clambered to their feet and trudged their way up to the castle; James made a quick detour to drop the snitch off and collect his Quidditch gear. Dinner was well underway, and they heard the din of chatter through the slit in the heavy oak doors but passed straight by and headed instead to the kitchens. So caught up in their newfound determination for the oncoming night, and the anxious coil of their stomachs, they did not see the black eyes that followed them, nor catch the malicious sneer tainting his face.

They didn’t waste much time in the kitchens, only ate what the House Elves had saved them, before they were hurrying back through the castle to the Common Room. They only reached the Entrance Hall when they were stopped.

“Sneaking off again, are you Lupin?” a voice drawled from the shadows.

Remus’ body seized up. James slipped his wand into his hand, twirling it through his fingers as Severus Snape stepped into the light.

“Oh, Snivellus,” delighted Sirius, though the snarl was biting and sharp. “Shouldn’t you be playing with your chemistry set?”

Snape’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “Shouldn’t you be running off to get ready for whatever you wander off for once a month?”

Remus swallowed thickly, eyeing the Slytherin. His face was waxy and pallid. “What do you want, Snape?” he asked tiredly.

“Nothing you, nor your equally dim-witted lackeys, could give me, I assure you, Lupin.”

“Then, please, have some courtesy. You go back to your dormitory. We’ll go back to ours.”

It seemed this had gotten through to him, for he didn’t reply and the Marauders turned on their heel to leave, just as Snape called out, “It’s a full moon tonight. Are you aware, Lupin?”

Sirius whirled on his heel and he was upon Snape in an instant, shoving him roughly into the brick wall. He relished in the way the other boy winced, no doubt as the stone dug into his back, and a trickle of fear lighted his dark eyes when Sirius’ wand pressed into the hollow of his throat.

Then, Snape began to smirk.

Sirius ragged him forwards by the scruff of his shirt and rammed him into the wall again.

“I don’t know what games you’re playing at, _Snivellus,”_ he spat, bringing his face close to Snape’s and speaking in a deadly, low voice so that no one else could hear, “but you need to learn when to keep that abnormally, large nose of yours out of other people’s business.”

“What happens in the Whomping Willow, Black?” Snape asked silkily.

Sirius smiled at him, and it was twisted and ugly. His murmur was barely distinguishable but Snape heard it nonetheless. “Poke the knot at the bottom and find out.”

“ _Sirius_ ,” James warned, for what seemed like the seventh time. As he was about to drag his friend off the other boy, Sirius stepped backward, dropping Snape and he tumbled against the wall roughly. “That’s enough.”

Sirius’ eyes didn’t waver from Snape’s until James hauled him around, and the Slytherin watched darkly as the Marauders continued down the corridor, before disappearing around the corner. Snape reached up and touched the delicate spot at his neck. He was burning.

He climbed to his feet, ignoring the stinging of his skin, and set off in the opposite direction, cloak swishing behind him.

**oOo**

The grounds were silent, tucked up in a blanket of obdurate darkness, where nothing stirred nor dared to whisper in the moonlight. There was something tempting about the night, however, as though it were simply holding its breath with anticipation. Trepidation lay heavy and thick on the air.

And then, movement. The door to the castle breaking open- there was a pool of light that flooded onto the grass, before it was swallowed once more in shadow. A figure, swathed in black, made its way across the pathway, descending the small hill, before stopping just out of range of the dozing tree.

The tree did not seem sinister. It shook off dead leaves, every now and then, but other than that, remained peaceful. The figure cast an immobilising spell on its branches just in case.

When he was sure it was frozen, he edged closer to its trunk, kneeling down and fumbling for the knot in the roots. His hand found it and he pressed down, silently cursing when nothing happened. But surely enough, the tree’s branches seized up and a small opening presented itself at the very base of the trunk. Though he knew he didn’t have much time, his fingers grazed the scratch marks engrained deep in the wood, and a nasty sneer twisted his lips.

He crawled inside.

The tunnel was so obviously fashioned by magic, for the walls were smooth and held up by no visible force. His knees tripped over protruding rocks, and he could feel the dirt stick to his hands, but he made himself continue on, only stopping when the hole he had climbed in through was a mere pinprick of satin midnight, and he reached a trapdoor above his head. He pushed it open and pulled himself up.

This was not what he had expected.

He was somehow sitting in a house, of some sort, however dilapidated it might be. The floor was filthy and scuffed, the walls were wooden panels that were falling apart and every window had been barred, once or twice over. There were no lights, and Snape cast a quick ‘ _Lumos’_ so that he could see. He got to his feet.

The more of the house he saw, the clearer it was that no one had stepped foot in here in years, decades even. Every room he peeked into was barren and neglected. It seemed as though the house had been dead for a long time, with no flicker of life to taint it.

That was when he heard it. A low whining. Coming from somewhere ahead.

Snape continued his perusal, wand held in front of him, cloak clipping his ankles. With each step, the whining grew louder and more desperate. There was a panicked scratch at the door just ahead of him. The whining stretched on, increasing in volume and vigour.

His hand reached for the handle-

Someone wrenched him back, fist tangled tightly in the material of his robes, ragging him about. Snape grappled for the doorknob but whoever was holding onto him had a secure grip and was not letting go. He tried to kick behind him.

“What are you doing here?”

He stopped. He recognised that voice.

_“Potter?”_

Sure enough, when he managed to get free, and could turn around to face his assailant, he saw James Potter standing in front of him. Though perhaps ‘standing’ was the operative term, for the taller boy was leaning against the wall as if for support, clutching his side and wincing every time he breathed. His hair was a mess, more so than usual, sticking to his forehead from sweat, and there was dirt clinging to his cheeks and hands. 

“What are you doing here, Snape?” he asked once more. Though visibly shattered, his eyes remained clear behind his glasses.

Snape sneered at him. “Black invited me.”

James’ face went white. He shook his head, and muttered, more to himself, “Sirius wouldn’t do that.”

“Really? Then how would I know to press the knot at the base of the-”

James blinked, seemingly remembered he was there and said, “Sirius would _never_ tell you.”

Snape scoffed condescendingly. “Then how am I here, Potter?”

But James couldn’t reply. There was a bang, a crash from further down the hallway, before a howl cut through the silence. Both boys shot to look in the direction it came from. The sound echoed through the night.

James didn’t waste a second. He leapt forward, grabbing hold of Snape and shoving him in front of him, pushing them both back to the trapdoor.

“Whatever it is you’re hiding here, _Potter,_ you won’t get away with it. You, or your merry band of imbeciles,” Snape snarled over his shoulder, though he found his feet more than willing to comply with James’ ushering.

James glanced behind him. He was deadly serious. “You can’t comprehend anything past your vicious prejudices and sick fancies, Snape. You have no idea-”

When they got to the trapdoor, Snape hauled himself away, holding his wand against James’ throat. James eyed it cautiously, lip darting out to wet his dry lips.

“No idea about what?” he demanded.

As if on cue, a howl cut through the house again, only this time it was followed by a splintering thud, louder and heavier than the last. Both boys watched the ceiling shake, sawdust raining down.

A rat scuttled along the bannister and past their feet. James’ eyes followed it.

He looked quickly back at Snape and said, “Go back to the castle. Climb into bed and pretend this never happened.”

Snape let out a derisive laugh. “And let you get away with whatever you’re doing here? No. This will get you expelled Potter. I’m sure of it.”

But instead of flustering, James just shook his head, almost sadly, and said, “Snape… I’m going to ask you one more time. _Please._ Leave.”

Snape smirked. He raised his wand, and pointed it right between James’ eyes, a curse brewing at his lips.

The opportunity was ripped away from him as there was another bang. James’ eyes widened, and his chest heaved. He jumped down into the trapdoor, wrapped his fingers around Snape’s ankle and lugged him down with him. Snape kicked to relinquish his hold, swearing and hissing, trying to twist so he could use his wand and curse the _bastard-_

Then, from around the corner, something appeared. It was huge, scrawny but tall, spanning the doorway above them. Its eyes gleamed yellow, narrowed to slits, and it was panting and drooling. Snape could only stare at the beast, feeling his heart stop in his chest.

James tugged the door down, hastily sliding his wand out and locking it tight.

“Werewolf,” Snape murmured. The trapdoor above their heads shook violently and he jumped. James just stared at the ground unflinchingly. “It makes sense.”

“Are you happy now?”

Snape looked up to stare at James’ blank expression.

“You nearly killed yourself. If I hadn’t been there-”

Snape scoffed. “Oh, spare me, Potter. You saved yourself.”

James’ face changed then, and he shook his head. “Yeah. Because I was scare _I_ would get the blame for this when there’s nothing at all to incriminate me. Some things are more important than reputation, or a petty feud.”

“Like the full moon?”

Snape’s face contorted into a smug and sickening sneer. James simply said, “Tell anyone and I will make whatever fate could have made of you up there look merciful. I will make you regret the day you walked into my compartment on the train. Do you understand me, Snape?”

Snape’s lip just curled, and he began to crawl back along the tunnel, ignoring the way the trapdoor still shuddered and jerked from the other end every few minutes, and the rumbling growling. Just before he clambered out into the cool night breeze, he heard James’ voice float back to him, dejected and tired:

“ _Oh, Sirius. What have you done?”_

**oOo**

“What were you thinking?”

The words were hushed and stolen, spoken to the silence and Remus knew, blearily, that he was not supposed to be able to hear them.

“James.” That was Peter, quiet, timid. “Keep your voice down. Remus is sleeping.”

There was a shuffle from beside him, the scraping of a chair against the stone floor. It made his head ache, and he wanted nothing more than to burrow deeper into his pillow, but he kept still. Though his body ached all over, and there was something stinging, and he knew he should rest, he needed to listen to this conversation.

He heard James swallow. “You know how he gets in that house! He goes stir-crazy!”

_“I didn’t mean-”_

_Sirius._

“You didn’t mean what?” James demanded in a whisper. His voice was strained, almost agonised. “You knew what would happen! There was only one possible outcome to that… Are you stupid? Are you _actually_ stupid, Sirius?”

There was no reply. Then, there was a long, strenuous sigh.

“Why did you do it?”

Nothing.

Then-

“I wasn’t thinking.” The excuse was small, intangible. Then, it grew in desperate vigour. “I was just so fed up with him looking at us like he knew us, acting like he could set Peter on fire whenever the fuck he wanted, like he knew about Remus and could treat him however the fuck he wanted- you heard him, he mentioned the Full Moon-”

“He was grasping for straws, Sirius,” said James tiredly. “He was monitoring you for a reaction.”

“Then why-”

“You didn’t see his face. You didn’t see Snape’s face when he saw it _._ ”

James’ voice was so low, Remus almost didn’t catch the words. Almost. They sent a ripple of panic through him, hurting more than any scratch or bruise or broken bone could, feeling as though someone had winded him. His eyes grew hot. He wanted nothing more than to be alone.

_It._

He’d been called that before. More than once. The first was by his father, in another conversation Remus shouldn’t have been listening to. His father had been arguing with his mother, claiming that this wasn’t natural in the Wizarding World, this… _infliction._ Remus had heard the shouting from his room and had crept out of bed and sat at the top of the stairs to listen, fighting the urge to run and hug his mother when he heard her start crying. His father had broken down and told her he couldn’t do it, that whatever was sleeping in his son’s bed, _it_ wasn’t their son.

That had broken Remus’ heart.

_“You’re just much more extraordinary than you realise.”_

This felt like setting it on fire.

_Sirius_

The burning spread across his heart quickly, devouring it in agony, soaking it in a betrayal so profound and cutting he could only ask _why._

_Why did you do it?_

When his friends had first shown him their animagus forms, he had cried, sobbed. The thought that someone, never mind his three brothers, loved him enough to do that had rattled him to his core. He had never thought anyone could love a monster. Remus had never thought anyone could ever love him.

And yet, his friends had disproved that. They’d kept his secret, bandaged his wounds, brought him hot chocolate when he was feeling low and handed in their homework under his name if he was feeling stressed about the Full Moon. They had loved him with so much vigour and passion, Remus was sure he had felt it resonate inside of his soul and perch there like a butterfly.

That butterfly fell limp now, landing in his gut with a dull thud.

_Snape knew._

Oh God. It was over. Word would be out tomorrow, and the owls would come flooding in. Parents wouldn’t want their children gallivanting around with a werewolf. The mere notion was taboo. Dumbledore would have no other choice. He would never see his friends again.

Remus started crying, and when his friends realised he was awake, he moaned in pain and pretended it was the agony of his joints forcing tears from his eyes. He couldn’t even look at Sirius, as Madam Pomfrey was alerted and she bustled over to force a few more nasty tasting potions down his throat, but he caught James’ eye. He’d always found James the unwavering candle in the darkness, like some sort of pillar to lean against and look for in times of need, but even his eyes were poison. They held pity and, worst of all, they held fear.

Pure, undulated fear.

**oOo**

There were no owls.

Though Remus had held his breath and closed his eyes each time the mail came soaring in through the open window, there had been no gasps of horror, no frightened looks shot his way. He sometimes felt Snape’s eyes on him, though he ignored them. Things almost went back to normal.

There was that word again. Almost.

He had not spoken to Sirius properly since that night, nearly two weeks ago. It wasn’t that he refused to, simply that he had convinced himself he had buried the pain, and it was easier to leave it in the ground than to drag it all up and face again. Remus pretended that the image of his betrayal festering in his bone marrow did not keep him up at night, alongside images of his werewolf self mauling Snape before being carted off to Azkaban.

They had been sitting under their tree again, sunshine drying up any conversation they might’ve had. Lunch was nearly over, however, and it was with heavy legs that they’d decided to head back up the grounds to the school.

“ _Snivellus!”_

Remus felt his breath catch in his throat. His heart dropped.

James had his wand out first, eyes deceptively clear of the disdain that marred his face. Remus didn’t know why he was doing it; he could see the reluctance coiled tight in the set of James’ broad shoulders, and how his knuckles were turning white.

Snape eyed the four of them with open distaste.

“Potter,” he spat.

Without warning, he was hoisted into the air, held at the ankle by an invisible rope. His books fell from his arms, bag slipping over his shoulder. He spluttered furiously.

James kept his wand trained on him. “I learnt that from you. You wrote it in the margin of your Potions book, remember? I’ve been curious to know what it does for a while now, and honestly, I was expecting something darker.”

He swallowed, moving closer, pulling Snape down so he could murmur, “Remember our deal.”

Snape spat at his shoes. “What deal? I don’t recall making one with _you-_.”

James’ lips tightened into a line. He jabbed his wand sharply, and Snape went hurtling to the ground, stopping short when his head was a few centimetres away from colliding with the dirt. A crowd had assembled at some point, and there was a ripple of gasps across them.

“Don’t tell anyone, or this will only get worse.”

The two stared at one another, as colour rapidly rushed to Snape’s head. Finally, he relented and snarled viciously, “I’m not going to cross my heart, Potter. Lift me back up!”

James did so, realising this was the best he was going to get to an unspoken promise. The counter-curse was about to touch his tongue, when his attention was snagged by a certain redhead barging her way through the throng of people watching.

“Potter! Let him down!”

Lily Evans stopped directly ahead of him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled with fury. They flicked up at Snape, and she faltered ever so slightly before her glare hardened and she refocused on James.

“Evans, this has nothing to do with you,” Sirius told her disinterestedly.

Remus had to check himself to hold back the laugh that had nearly forced its way out of him. If Sirius thought he could use that tone with Lily Evans and escape unscathed, he clearly hadn’t learnt anything in the past five years. Her eyes narrowed to slits.

“Don’t you _dare,_ Black! This has everything to do with me!” she fumed. “I am a Prefect! If you think your tyranny of this school will continue next year, then you are sadly mistaken-"

Sirius lowered his wand a little. "Did she just call us tyrants?" he asked, amused.

Lily wasted no time. She took full advantage of his distraction and disarmed him in a heartbeat, catching his wand in her free hand. Remus rolled his eyes. They made it far too easy for her.

"Now, put him down."

James just stared at her. There was a small crease between his eyebrows, as though some sort of battle was being waged within his eyes, something that was causing him stress. It disappeared too quickly for Remus to place what it was, and his cocky facade slipped back on in no time.

"I will if you go out with me, Evans," he grinned.

Lily regarded him in disgust. "Not even if it was a choice between you and the Giant Squid!"

"Hey now!" Sirius called, pointing a finger at her. "That's not fair! One's a handsy, hideous face-sucker and other is a ridiculously large squid. That's no fair comparison. It's the squid every time."

James shot him a look.

Lily chewed on her lip, glancing up at Snape again, who had stopped wriggling and was turning purple.

"I mean it, Potter! Just put him down! This stupid war has gone on for long enough-!"

"Stop it!" Snape spat out. The blood rushing to his head made his words gargled. "Just stop it! I don't need help from a filthy, little _Mudblood_!"

James, who had been in the process of lifting his wand to utter the counter-spell, stopped. His face grew murderous; there was no flicker of doubt across it.

"How fucking dare you," he said quietly, then roared, "She is twice the witch you will ever be a wizard!"

He started forward, fuelled on his rage, eyes livid and set on his target, hand wrapped tight around his wand. Lily ran in front of him.

"No!" she screamed. She pointed her wand at his chest.

Her face was red, almost as red as her hair, and her eyes shone with unshed tears. James deflated, arm dropping to his side.

"Lily, I-"

"No! Potter, I don't need your help! You are nothing more than an arrogant, bullying toerag!" declared Lily vehemently, throwing herself away. She dragged her sleeve across her eyes.

"Lily-" Snape began, and his voice was low and desperate.

She straightened, hand still clutching her wand. Her eyes slid to him. "Do you still intend to join the Death Eaters?"

Snape opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. The two best friends stared sullenly at one another.

At his prolonged silence, Lily's eyes widened fractionally, as if she hadn't truly believed it. Her face grew cold soon after and she said, "Have fun, _Snivellus_. Let's see how you get out of this one without your 'filthy Mudblood.'"

With that, she turned on her heel and started back towards the castle. Remus could hear her small whimpers, and shook his head, wishing his hearing wasn't so in tune to the suffering of the world. James' eyes followed her the whole way.

"You fucking idiot," he said, looking at Snape with thinly veiled disgust. "Did you not listen to what I said to you?”

Snape could only stare at him, hatred bubbling in his black eyes. James raised his wand, let it linger between those same eyes, and Remus sucked in a breath. There was a stolen second of silence where the world dropped away, and Remus was sure it was just Snape staring at James and James staring at Snape; two boys on different sides of a brewing war, two ideals boiled down to the basic symphony of school rivalry.

Then, James’ arm dropped to his side, and he started walking away, calling over his shoulder, “Hang in there, Snape,” though his usual vehemence was absent. Sirius followed after him, directing a quick spell and Snape’s pants flew down to his ankles. He struggled violently.

Remus started forwards. “James,” he began. The other boy didn’t even slow his pace. Peter patted his shoulder as he passed, giving him a small, hopeless look.

He continued after his friends, head down, feeling his head spin and his stomach grow cold. As he passed, he paused, eyes sliding over Snape’s discarded wand. Remus clenched his jaw before he swooped down and picked it up, holding it out for Snape to take.

The Slytherin eyed him for a moment of disdain.

Remus sighed. “Are you really going to let pride stop you from taking it? You’re hanging upside down with your underwear on show.”

Snape snatched his wand and Remus nodded tiredly, not staying to see him mutter the counter-curse and fall to the ground, as he set off up the hill to the school.

**oOo**

**August 1976**

It was a stormy night. Ravaging winds and eviscerating rain had swept in from the West, following a summer of nothing but eternal sunshine and hot spells. The skies were dark and swirling, and the road shone slick with water.

The old manor house stood largely unaffected, solid and unwavering in the face of such an onslaught. The trees groaned, shifting with the weight of the wind ploughing into their trunks, and there was a little broom shed that’s foundations looked as though they would be pulled from the earth and the wooden panels of the walls would go splintering. Other than that, there was nothing.

Until a figure appeared out of nowhere.

It was largely unremarkable, for the wind made one’s eyes hard to trust, but one minute there was solitude and silence, and with the next bout of storm, a boy stood in its place.

He was relatively tall, though his body was racked, and he was shivering violently. He ran with fear lacing his strides, clutching tightly at the thick cloak wrapped around him and lugging after his heels an old leather trunk.

The boy stopped only when he got to the house, collapsing against the doorway, gasping sharply for air. He knocked desperately.

There was no answer. Nobody even stirred.

But then, a light flickered on above him. And another. It was like a game of dominos, each light lit quicker than the last, until the door was flung open and a yellow warmth devoured him.

_“Sirius?”_

James Potter stood in the house, glasses shoved onto his nose, tired eyes slowly widening. His hair was stuck up in all possible directions.

Sirius tried to smile, but he could taste blood and knew it was more of a grimace.

“Dear Merlin,” James whispered.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Sirius offered quietly.

It was only then that James noticed the trunk behind him. He didn’t waste another second, throwing the door wider and ushering his friend inside, taking the trunk from his cold and clammy hands and hauling it into the entryway. The door slammed shut behind them.

James had seen many things in the five years he’d spent being friends with Sirius Black. He had seen him thrash around in the dead of night, pleading to an invisible man to stop, flinching and crying out when they didn’t. He had seen him determined and loving ferociously, stopping at nothing to make sure that Remus Lupin was not alone when the rest of society seemed to believe he should be. He had seen him cold, when the hatred burned through him, black as his namesake and eyes. He had seen him euphoric and free, laughing like nothing in the world could touch him and at one time, James had believed that to be true.

He had never seen him like this.

Sirius’ eye was swollen, purple and bulging, protruding from his ashen face like a stone from water. His lip was bust, still oozing blood, and there was a bruise blossoming on his cheekbone, ugly and grey and pink. James knew that if he lifted Sirius’ shirt, even a fraction, he’d see identical bruises, like a meadow spreading up his skin.

He was shaking, trembling so vigorously, James was sure he would burst. He was convinced that Sirius would explode and everything he’d ever felt, everything he’d held inside of him, would come ricocheting out, all the red and gold and black traversing through his veins.

“I tried calling you,” he murmured. “On the mirror. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t know where else to go-”

“ _Sirius_ ,” whispered James, and he felt his throat close up. Without saying another word (he wasn’t sure he could), he pulled the smaller boy into his arms, hugging him so closely, so tightly, as if this embrace would make all of Sirius’ broken parts fit back together. But then James wondered if he wasn’t whole to begin with.

The two boys stood there, clutching onto one another so firmly they left marks. Sirius sobbed into James’ shoulder, fingers clenched around the material of his pyjamas and James didn’t mind that he was now as drenched and cold as the storm outside. His brother was safe in here, in his arms, and if it meant he had to hold him for an eternity, James would do so in a heartbeat.

“James, darling, what-?”

Euphemia Potter stopped at the foot of the stairs. She breathed in sharply, and her words were lost.

“Sirius, love, is that you? What’s happened? What’s-? _Oh my_.”

She didn’t wait any longer, rushing over and she bundled both boys into her arms, hugging them to her body as though they were till children in need of a mother’s embrace, and she felt Sirius cling to her, melt into her warmth.

Euphemia realised he had probably never felt the love of a mother’s embrace before. She made sure to hug him tighter.

She patted his back to let her go, pulling away and wiping at her eyes, sniffing resolutely. She cast a drying and warming charm on him, smiling softly, holding his face tenderly in her hands. “Love, we need to get you out of these clothes. You’ll freeze to death if not. James, run and get him some of your pyjamas.”

James seemed hesitant to leave his friend, but his mother’s eyes urged him and he set off at a sprint, returning mere seconds later with a pair of clean Quidditch nightclothes, emblazoned with snitches and Puddlemere United. Sirius hardly had the effort to jab at James’ shocking allegiances.

“Can you walk, dear?” Euphemia asked him, brushing away some hair by his eyes. Though her face didn’t show it, she wanted to flinch at the sight of him. A child. And yet, here he was, beaten and bloody, almost a pulp. She tried to lead him upstairs, but he collapsed in her arms. “No, it’s okay. We’ll get you on the settee for tonight and move you upstairs to your room tomorrow.”

With James’ help, they gently led Sirius over to the settee, and Euphemia procured blankets and pillows to wrap him up with. She flicked her wand and a fire leapt in the hearth, bathing the room immediately in heat.

“I’ll just go and get some balm for his eye, and see if we have any potions for his bruises. I-”

“Mum,” James cut her off.

She fell quiet and the two looked at the broken boy on their settee. He had settled into the cushions, burrowing into their warmth, with the blanket tucked right up to his chin. In the firelight, the purple of his face made him look haunted, nearly dead. James’ throat clenched up at the thought and he cast it away instantly, focusing instead on the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest.

Euphemia felt her heart melt. A sad smile formed at her lips. “I’ll be right back.”

Luckily, because they had a son as danger prone as James, their medical cupboard was well-stocked, and she was returning in no time with the necessary balms and potions and a warm cloth to wipe away any blood, but as she stepped back into their living room, she stopped in her tracks.

James had climbed under the covers beside Sirius, and was snoring peacefully, the smaller boy tucked against his chest. He had his arm draped over her son’s waist, and every now and then, his hand would seize into a fist and he’d clutch the material of James’ shirt. James absently stroked Sirius’ hair.

Euphemia faltered.

She and Fleamont had always had trouble having children. They had thought, as old as they were, that they might be condemned to live in a big, empty house, happy and in love, though missing _something_ , missing the echoing of laughter and the high-pitched glee that followed it, spiralling out of control, and yelling after ghosts that sprinted down the hallways and slammed doors and made messes in the kitchen, and trailed mud into the house after a day spent dancing in the rain-

The day she found out she was pregnant with James was the happiest of her life, and though he was her blessing and her joy, it had come at a cost, and she was warned that another childbirth would kill her. And so, the dreams of a big family with several children had bubbled down to one child, whom she loved with all her heart.

Now, however, she thought that wasn’t true.

She laid the tray of medicines down on the coffee table, before quietly moving over to her boys. She pressed a lingering kiss to each of their foreheads, and pulled the blanket further up, making sure it covered their feet.

Euphemia stopped in the doorway, looking back once more at her sons.

No, she didn’t have one child. She had two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This James might seem a bit OOC due to the fact that he saved Snape, seemingly being the bigger person, then went straight back to bullying him, but this is actual canon timeline. I couldn’t believe it either, but as you’ll see, I want this to act as contrast for his character development as he grows up over the next two school years. I just wanted to clear that up in case any of you were thinking it was odd or not in character.
> 
> The werewolf bit was actually very fun and very painful to write. Sirius!!! You nugget! Why?:(
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this. I put a lot of effort into making it feel right. I love you all!


	3. Chapter Three- Fireworks and Sparks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: REVIEWS ALREADY??? AFTER ONLY ONE CHAPTER? YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST!! These four boys are very special to me and I’m going to try to make them as real as possible when I bring them to life. Thank you for reading. Oh, and don’t worry too much about the time jump- everything that is important will still be detailed.

** Chapter Three- Fireworks and Sparks **

****

**September 1977**

****

Sirius snored.

The sunlight sifted through the slit in the curtains, bathing the room in a warm, wintery light. September mornings were his favourite. He liked them because it was the nicest feeling, to hear the wind rustle through the trees and the birds singing as they darted amongst the clouds, to feel as though time had been suspended all around him when everyone slept and only the light could move, to be surrounded by his friends again. He slept soundly, though he knew that James, ever the early bird, would be awake before the sun had first touched the sky.

Sure enough, when he opened his eyes blearily, he heard the shower running, and Sirius frowned. He rubbed at his face, still tight in the clutches of sleep, and sat up slightly. In the bed to his left, Remus was sleeping, and all that was visible was the golden tuft of his hair. Peter’s snores, loud and deep from such a small boy, reverberated around the room.

Their dormitory was that deep red, adorning the walls and sliced by a log burner that crackled merrily near the door. The heavy crimson drapes beside his bed were closed, but a flicker of the outside world peeked into the room, escaping in a blissful dance that kissed his arm. It made his hairs stand on end.

Sixth Year had swept them by in a flurry of laughter and poorly-made decisions and Sirius had loved every minute of it. The knowledge that this was his last year at Hogwarts made something inside of him tighten ever so slightly, and he looked around at his friends, the string around his heart loosened and he knew that even when he left Hogwarts on the same train that had always brought him back, his home would be coming with him. Home, to Sirius Black, was wherever his friends were, on whatever chilly gay September morning he woke up to them all and felt peace settle in his bones.

Sirius noticed that James’ bed was already made, his uniform sprawled across it. He flopped back down, closing his eyes to steal a few more moments of serenity-

_“From the marshy bogs of Queerditch_

_Grew a sport so fine and fair_

_In which each witch and wizard_

_Would take flight through the air._

_We sit and watch in wonder_

_At each game the players play_

_And dream our team will reign supreme_

_Thus we cannot help but say...”_

Sirius’ eyes shot open, and he groaned, covering his head with his hands.

He had not missed this.

James sung his lungs out, and his voice, though technically not out of key, was obnoxiously bad. Or perhaps that was just bias because it was _so fucking loud._

He shoved his head under his pillow, and murmured, “Don’t. Don’t you dare, Potter… Don’t you-”

But James Potter dared.

Oh, did he dare.

_“BEAT BACK THOSE BLUDGERS, BOYS,_

_AND CHUCK THAT QUAFFLE HERE._

_NO TEAM CAN EVER BEST_

_THE BEST OF PUDDLEMERE!_

_YOU’LL CATCH THAT GOLDEN SNITCH_

_WITH THE EASIEST OF EASE_

_GRAB YOUR BEATER’S BAT_

_AND IN NO TIME FLAT_

_PROVE THE GAME IS_

_YOURS TO SEIZE!”_

Remus peered groggily from under his blanket, looking dazed and not yet quite awake. He smiled. “Good morning to you too.”

His voice, muggy with sleep, was thick and clogged with his slight accent. They didn't hear it often, but it was a hybrid of Welsh and London, derived from his childhood in the countryside and the prolonged exposure to an ancient aristocrat, a rich mummy's boy and Dorcas Meadowes, who they couldn't escape if they tried.

Sirius looked at him from under his pillow. His hair was stuck up all over the place, and his golden eyes were shining with mirth.

Sirius didn’t know how he could be so amused at this time in a morning. Peter was dead to the world; he didn’t even stir.

_“Can I hear you shout_

_Puddlemere United?_

_(PUDDLEMERE UNTIED!)_

_Always number one!_

_(ALWAYS NUMBER ONE!)_

_We won't be divided!_

_(WE WON’T BE DIVIDED!)_

_Now it's time to have_

_some fun-!”_

“POTTER!” yelled Sirius, flinging his pillow at the bathroom door. It ricocheted off, hitting Peter in the face, who shot upright, drool dangling from his gawping mouth.

“Wha-?”

Remus didn’t even try to contain his laughter, and it poured out of him. He leaned over the side of his bed, mashing his mouth into the mattress so it wasn’t as high and loud. Sirius fired him a glare.

Suffice it to say, despite his love for these mornings, he was not a morning person.

Sirius flung back his covers, marching over to the bathroom. He pushed the door open and ignored James’ shriek, and yelled, “James! Shut the fuck up!”

He slammed the door shut again, and collapsed on Peter, who just happened to be the closest. The latter made a sound of muffled protest, and wriggled, trying to push the taller boy off of him, but Sirius merely burrowed his head into the pillow.

“Save me, Pete,” he mumbled. “I just want to sleep in peace.”

“You’ve had all summer to sleep!” Peter laughed, though managed to shove him off him and Sirius laid beside him. Remus watched them from the other side of the room, amusement making his face light.

“It wouldn’t be Hogwarts without this,” he said.

They heard the shower switch off, and James appeared from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. His glasses were fogged up, and the cellotape gluing them together was peeling; they did nothing to hide the incredulity of his expression as he looked down at Sirius.

“Honestly,” he said. “I think you’ve seen me naked more times than my own mother!”

Sirius shrugged. “Don’t worry, you’re an Adonis. Take it from someone who knows. But disrupt my sleep once more and I will disfigure you so profoundly your own mother won't be able to recognise you."

He smiled charmingly, but James just pulled a face, looking like he couldn’t decide whether to be flattered or unnerved. He moved over to his own bed to get dressed.

“You haven’t fixed your glasses yet,” Remus pointed out, sitting up and scratching his head. "They've been like that all summer."

James blinked at him. "I keep forgetting.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “What? That you’re magic?”

James slid his arms into his shirt, though paused as he was about to button it up. He grinned lopsidedly, “Oh, yeah. That too.”

Remus rolled his eyes, though he swivelled round to put his feet on the floor. He stretched, and asked, “Where did you even get the cellotape? Isn’t that a Muggle thing?”

“Dorking. This nice old lady bought me some and told me I should probably invest in some new glasses.”

“Did you not think of listening to her?” asked Remus. “Maybe she had a point.”

James merely shrugged.

"I like these ones. They show off my chiselled jawline," he said, eyes dancing, and continued to dress himself.

"Can't argue there," Peter supplied wisely.

Remus shot him an amused look, but chose not to reply and got to his feet, where he stood for a minute, eyes roving the room for the lost pieces of his uniform. He was really quite terrible, throwing his clothes and leaving them where they landed. He was nothing like the smart, neat boy in his first year who folded his socks.

Remus had grown up. It had been the shock of Sirius’ lifetime when he had come back for their fifth year to find Remus a fair few inches taller than him. He had grown into his lankiness, and no longer had gangly arms and legs that were too long for his body. He still had the pale skin, and freckles, and golden hair, though his hair was considerably longer, curling round his chin, and his eyes seemed to always be happy, shining for one thing or another. He no longer covered his scars, and wore them, not proudly, but certainly unashamedly. It was something James had made sure to tell him the first time, and all the other times after, that he had seen them.

Scars were nothing to be ashamed of. Least of all battle scars. They were proof he was fighting, proof he was strong and as James had astutely pointed out 'ladies love a warrior.' Sirius had agreed, and added that boys did too. The blush on Remus' face had almost had him covering them back up just to avoid having the conversation again, but Peter had told him (very seriously) he was like the heroes in his story books and that had meant the absolute world to Remus.

“Are we still on for today?” asked Peter groggily, getting up. When it was obvious Sirius had no plans to do the same, he shoved him, rolling him off the bed and his friend landed with a thump and a yowl of offence on the floor.

“I don’t see why not,” James said, fingers fiddling with his tie. “We know what we’re doing, right?”

He chanced a glance at each of them, and they replied in the affirmative.

“First day back as well,” replied Remus, grinning. He shrugged his shirt on, and started buttoning it up. “Poor McGonagall. She’s barely had time to breathe.”

“Minnie loves us,” said Sirius, as he got gracefully to his feet. He unclenched his fist, looking down at what he had found on the floor before holding it up and saying, “Remus. Sock.”

Remus raised his eyebrows, and promptly got a sock to the face. He pressed his lips in a line.

Peter frowned at the sock in question. “Why was that in my bed?”

Nobody bothered to reply to him; Remus’ clothes could be found in the strangest of places- the sink, under James’ pillow, hanging from the ledge outside the window. They didn’t know how they got there, but they always seemed to get back to Remus in the end.

James fumbled with his tie, peering down his nose at it, and said, "Personally, I think Minnie is going to be most impressed. It's her skill after all."

"I don't reckon this is what she had in mind all those years of teaching us Transfiguration," Remus commented sceptically, unfurling his collar from his neck. He shot them a look. "I think she fancied turning a pocket watch into a tea cosy or something similar."

"Well she'll enjoy our flair, I imagine," James replied, sending his friend a dazzling smile. He'd given up on his tie, so Peter had kneeled at the foot of his bed to give himself the additional inches needed to loop his tie into place, pulling it tight. James choked, wrenched forward. He rubbed his neck weakly and said, "Not that tight, Pete."

Peter just raised his eyebrows, though there was mischief glimmering in the faux innocence of his wide eyes.

"Maybe you should finally learn how to do it yourself then," he replied, making his way over to his own bed. “After all, you should really know how to do it after four years.”

James' eyes followed him incredulously. "But what's the point when I have you!?"

Peter's shoulders dropped in exasperation as he exclaimed, "I'll be doing your tie on your wedding day at this rate!"

James pointed at him. "I'll hold you to that!"

"You're a big boy, James," said Sirius lightly, joining in as he collected his uniform from his trunk. "Evans won't stand for that."

"Oh bugger off. To be frank, Marlene probably won't mind- you still have a pulse after all."

Sirius pulled his pyjama shirt over his head and clutched at his heart. He cried mournfully, "I am more than a body to warm your bed, James Fleamont Potter!"

"You know I value your brain as well," said James. "However little there is of it-"

"Besides, there’s nothing between Marlene and I."

"Does she know that?" Remus asked dryly.

Sirius just grinned, shaking his head, and continued to dress himself.

"It never fails to amuse me how minuscule and bleak your dating history is," announced James. "Especially when the entire school seems to think you're some sort of Casanova sex god."

Sirius' eyes widened, and he whispered, almost conspiratorially, "But I am a Casanova sex god."

"And you've received this feedback from the two and a half girls who have let you feel their breasts, have you?" Remus questioned. He paused. "Was it above the jumper or did they let you touch their Oxford?"

James' laugh was loud and rich, crackling through the air and Remus sent him a grin. Sirius pulled a face at the pair of them.

"Stop it," said Peter, "you'll hurt his feelings."

Sirius' shoulders slumped dramatically and he fired a particularly rude gesture at his friend.

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Well in that case, was it above the Oxford or did she stop you before you could get to her skin?"

"And how many boobs have you touched Peter? Rounded to the nearest whole number please." Sirius' voice was loud enough to rise above the returned snickering of his friends. "And your own don't count."

Peter blushed a brilliant red. He gave Sirius the finger.

James frowned in disapproval, and cocked his head. He said, "Now, now, Sirius. If those are the rules, you've dropped to two."

"Do mine count?" Remus asked curiously.

James considered this.

"Jumper or Oxford?"

Remus' lips parted and he replied in mock sincerity, "Above the jumper, James. What kind of randy teenager do you mistake me for?"

"You're right, I'm sorry, Moony." James turned back to his brother. "So it's now at one. And that's only one more than Wormtail." On his way to the bathroom to comb through his hair, he slapped Peter on the back. "Don't worry mate, there's time for you yet. Girls love an underdog."

"Then why are they so attracted to me?" Sirius asked languidly, spreading his arms wide.

James' voice floated from the bathroom. "You misheard me, Padfoot. I said 'underdog,' not mangy dog."

Sirius directed an affronted look at Remus, who raised an eyebrow as if to say 'he's not wrong.'Peter still seemed engrossed by their previous conversation. He collapsed onto his bed, absently reaching for his shoes to pull on and lace up.

"What about Marlene?" he asked after a moment. "Everyone's touched her boobs."

"I haven't," said Remus genially.

"We're not here to name and shame, Peter," James responded, emerging from the bathroom with hair as lopsided and untameable as it had been when he'd entered.

Sirius nodded. "Yes, she has lovely boobs. It's only right that people get to touch them."

"Once again," Remus said to no one in particular. "My hands have never gone near Marlene's breasts."

"Keep calling them 'breasts' and they likely never will," Sirius took pleasure in telling him, topping the advice off with an amiable smile.

Remus rolled his eyes.

"Although," James countered, staring at Peter.

"Wormtail has got a point. Not that lots of people have touched Marlene's boobs, but you just said there's nothing going on so it doesn't really make the cut. Sorry, sport," he patted Sirius' shoulder, "you're level at zero now."

Peter grinned triumphantly at him. "We could start a club."

Sirius merely gawped at the pair of them. It took him a minute or two to find the dignity to close his mouth. He inhaled deeply, holding up a finger.

"First of all, there is no club. I refuse to be a member of your pitiful virgin society group. Second, I have gotten to the Oxford thank you very much. Third, can we please stop talking about McKinnon's boobs! I was drunk and it's bringing back atrocious memories I would rather not have to dredge up."

"Like turning into Padfoot and eating a pigeon?" Remus supplied helpfully.

Sirius' less than impressed eyes slid to him. "To name one."

"And when you-" Peter began.

"That was not an invitation to name more, Pete," said Sirius, voice dripping with forced pleasantness.

Peter ducked his head to hide the grin spilling into his bulbous cheeks. He finished tying his shoes.

“What’s that?” Sirius asked, all of a sudden, stepping over his twisted duvet, which was strewn at the foot of his bed from where he had kicked it earlier on, skirting around (were they _his?)_ shoes that were scattered on the floor, to stop in front of Remus. He grabbed the badge that his friend had just pinned to his Gryffindor sweater and held it closer to his eye. A short, disbelieving bark of laughter escaped his lips. “Have you seen this? Who the fuck in their right mind would make _you_ Prefect again after last time?”

“Prefect?” James repeated, eyes wide. He shot over just as quickly, and Peter jumped across the beds to follow.

Remus’ cheeks and ears were tinged pink, but he simply rolled his eyes and pulled his jumper out of Sirius’ prying fingers.

“I’ll have you know, I’m still the most responsible one here,” he said.

James scoffed, throwing his head back into the action, and he replied dismissively, “That’s not difficult! Mentally, we have a combined age of twelve!”

“Fifteen, if we’re being generous,” added Peter.

“And yet, you still made Head Boy,” Remus retorted dryly. His lips were turned up with amusement.

James shrugged. “Nepotism,” was all he said.

Remus pulled a face. “Your father makes hair potions-”

“Hey- I won’t have you disrespecting Fleamont like that!”

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” asked Sirius, and his voice was softer now, finger stroking the red gleam of the badge, glistening proudly on Remus’ chest. His eyes lifted to look at him directly, and there was something shining in the darkness of them.

Remus shrugged, and he looked away. “I didn’t want you to ridicule, I guess.”

“We would never-!”

He fixed them with a knowing stare. “So if I’d told you as soon as I got the letter, you wouldn’t have tried to take advantage of my restored responsibility to help with your tomfoolery?”

There was a pregnant pause.

“We have James for that!” reassured Peter helpfully.

“Well, I wouldn’t quite label it tomfoolery-” began James, scratching the back of his neck, but the hesitance in his tone was clear.

Remus shook his head. “You never fail to prove me right,” he said, but there was a slight smile as he ducked his head and escaped from their clutches. He paused then, and looked at Peter, almost guiltily. “But Pete, it’s your badge- you had it last year-”

“I only turned up to the meetings because there was free food,” admitted Peter candidly. “The position was wasted on me and we all knew it. You guys knew it, Dumbledore knew it, I knew it. I’m actually glad I don’t have to do Patrols for another year. Do you know how many times I turned into a rat just to get it over and done with quicker? It’s not wasted on you.”

Remus gripped his friend’s leg, gratitude prompting him to give it a little shake. “Well, hey, thanks Peter.”

“It’s why we’re friends,” remarked Peter, shrugging, flopping back to lie on Remus’ bed. He stared up at the ceiling, light blue eyes tracing the stars and planets engraved into the crooked wooden beams. “We make you look good. You keep us in line.”

Though Remus scoffed loudly, his cheeks only reddened further and he stole a moment to adjust his Prefect badge. Sirius watched him for a moment longer. He deserved the position. After Fifth Year, after what had happened in the Whomping Willow with Snape, Remus hadn’t got his Prefect Badge back for their Sixth Year. Although they’d been happy for Peter, who had received the position instead, it had been clear that Remus blamed himself for what had happened. Nobody worked harder than Remus- except, maybe, for Lily, but they were similar in the respect that they both had something to prove, something to strive for. Sirius wanted Remus to realise how valuable and impressive he was, even if he had to be reminded daily in the form of a little red badge with a big gold ‘P’ on it.

James gripped Sirius' shoulder abruptly. His face was electrified, sparking in the haywire hazel of his eyes, jolting his glasses off balance. The grin curling his thin lips made something flip in Sirius' stomach. Something dangerous and exciting at the same time.

"Are you ready?"

He didn't think he'd ever been as ready in his entire life.

James squeezed him, and Sirius could feel the tension buzzing through his veins, before he left the dormitory.

Remus scooped his scarf up from the floor, winking as he passed Sirius and followed James. Peter quickly ran a brush through his wiry blonde hair and scurried after the pair of them, leaving Sirius alone.

There was nothing stopping him but his eyes flitted over the room regardless. He always had these moments when he came back to Hogwarts; these moments where time stopped and he could bask in the snatched serenity of it all, the breathless joy that he was home and he was loved.

"Sirius?"

James' voice floated up from the Common Room. He felt his lips twitch.

"Coming!"

The noise of the Gryffindor Common Room was like a firework erupting above his head and drenching him in the thrill of life. Anxious first years sat in corners, huddled together, eyes flicking to a few of the older students, awe mingled with their nerves. There were girls, some with hair flowing to their skirts, others with pixie cuts, congregated on the windowsills and laughing like bells ringing. Groups of boys played Exploding Snap, roaring in laughter every time one of the cards spontaneously combusted in someone’s face, and every now and then, a poor sacrifice would be pushed towards the girls who would turn their noses up in disdain and send him scuttling back to the bold bravado of his friends. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, feeding the warmth. Red scarves were wrapped around necks, and golden ties preened from chests. Sirius couldn't get enough of it. This was his family.

"You alright?" James asked, and though his voice was tempered to be neutral, Sirius could hear and see the concern. His friend was never any good at hiding his emotions. Or maybe it was just that after four years, he was an expert on James Potter.

"Yeah," said Sirius. His grin was wide and raw. "I'm home."

James' eyes softened, and he threw an arm around his shoulder, lugging him forward. "Well what are we waiting for? We've got a prank to play!"

They walked through the corridors, their laughter making the portraits turn and stare. Some of them frowned, tutting their oily lips. Others muttered amongst themselves how it was clear The Marauders were back for another year of mischief and mayhem. Secretly, they all admitted, it was never a dull year with those four boys gallivanting the halls.

As they approached the Great Hall, shouts and the tell-tale enthusiasm of chatter reached out to them, enveloping them in the din of Hogwarts. The light spilled through the slit in between the doors, and they caught just a hint of the breakfast feast before they were encompassed by it completely.

The four tables were dotted with students, a sea of faces dressed in black robes painted red, yellow, green and blue. The tables were decked out with golden platters of every food imaginable; bright red apples were piled high, besides scores of toast, and towers of croissants. There were rows of multi-coloured jams and marmalades, and jugs brimming with all the colours of the rainbow.

James could barely contain his excitement, and he dragged them over to sit at the end of the Gryffindor Table.

"You know the plan, right?" he asked fervently, eyes wide and bright behind his glasses, looking like a five year old at a birthday party who had just been offered cake.

"Of course we do," said Remus. "We've had this planned since the start of the summer."

"So you all know what you're doing-?"

Sirius sighed dramatically. He leaned forward and looked James straight in the eye. "We know the plan. We know what we're doing. You're clucking like a mother hen. Have a little faith," he added, leaning back and helping himself to an apple.

This seemed to appease James a little as his face relaxed, and he allowed a small easy smile.

That is, until Sirius leisurely questioned, "What could go wrong?"

The crease between James' eyebrows reappeared, deeper than before.

Remus cringed. Even Peter's eyes darted between the three of them.

"Don't say that," said James quickly. "I don't want to think about it."

Sirius sent an impish grin at Peter, who said nothing but the curl of his lips behind his bacon was a reply in itself. Remus shook his head at the pair of them.

Slowly, but surely, the Great Hall started filling up, and the noise absconded them of their worries. The humdrum of school, currently dominated by nonsensical chatter, rose, wiggling its way into the cracks and crevices of the stone walls and brushing even the September clouds on the ceiling in greeting.

"Wotcha!"

Marlene McKinnon appeared at the end of the table. There was something electrifying about her, something that sparked at the tips of her long blonde hair, always brushed but messy, that short circuited at the red of her grinning lips. Her tie hung loose about her neck, her cardigan buttoned only half way up. The air around her felt like it was on fire, fuelled by the thrill of another year, where anything could happen.

Sirius often felt that happen to the air around himself.

He grinned up at her. "Long time, no see, Marls. How're you doing?"

"I'm doing fine," she replied, tucking a strand of his dark hair behind his ear. "How are you, Black? Got that motorbike yet?"

Sirius' grin widened. "Not yet. But you know I'm on it. Give it a year and I'll have one, just you see."

"You promise to take me for a ride on it?" asked Marlene, her blue eyes, the colour of a sea on a stormy day, bright and wide.

"Of course," he promised. "We could even get matching jackets."

Marlene's lips split into the first real smile of the day and she said, "As long as I get to choose them. Your taste is questionable at best. I don't want some kind of... emblazoned puppy on the back."

Sirius tried not to look too offended. "Dogs are ferocious," he said, voice suspiciously neutral.

She pulled a face.

"They're cuddly! What are they going to do- lick you to death?"

He dropped the pretence, mouth falling open of its own accord. Quickly, he grappled for a counter argument.

"I'll have you know, a dog bite exerts 2000 pounds of pressure so good luck hanging onto your limb-"

"2000 newtons," Remus corrected.

"Bless you," Sirius replied distractedly.

"No- Sirius, it's 2000 newtons. That's what power is measured in. 2000 pounds is like a Muggle car slamming into you head on."

The group took a while to absorb this information in which James' face contorted in both awe and bewilderment at the utter brilliance of his friend, and Peter seemed to shut off completely, taking much more interest in his sausages.

"That's codswallop!" exclaimed Sirius.

Marlene's laugh burst from her body, shrieking all around the hall, eliciting a few turned heads and wide eyes. The first years especially seemed concerned but they'd get used to her. With Marlene, it was like having a firework go off, and habituating to the sparks that followed thereafter.

"Oh, careful now, don't set any dogs on me to prove your point Black- I wouldn't want to bruise!"

She was still cackling when a girl with eyes the colour of grass in summer and hair aflame approached.

"Here you are!" Lily Evans announced. Her voice was high and breathless. There was a slight pinkness to her cheeks, clouding her dark freckles. "We were looking all over for you! One minute, you were standing next to us, the next and poof! You're gone."

She seemed to realise she had an audience for she turned to the Marauders and smiled slightly.

"Oh hello boys."

"Good morning, Lily," greeted Remus. "I trust you had a good summer?"

"As good as it could be in the heat we had!" she groaned. "Honestly, England is never sunny and when it is, I don't even tan! I just burn!"

She held up her pale, freckled arm to prove it.

"It's because you're so white," commented James logically.

Lily's eyebrows quirked and she looked at him.

"Good morning Potter. Not all of us luck out in the gene pool lottery, I'm afraid, so I'm condemned to burn." Her eyes flicked from his sun-kissed face to the top of his head. "Still haven't picked up a brush, I see."

James schooled his mouth into a line. His eyes danced. "Still haven't learnt to look in the mirror before you leave your dormitory, I notice."

Lily's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and James was careful to stifle his grin (though his lips twitched) as he reached up and pulled a yellow ribbon entangled in her hair.

She blushed, snatching it off of him. "That was intentional."

"Uh huh," he replied, not even trying to hide his smile now.

She patted down her hair, adamantly avoiding looking at him.

"Oh absolutely. I'm trying to bring random hair accessories back, is it not catching on?"

"I'd like to say yes-?"

"I'd take your word for it but your hair hasn't even seen a brush in donkey's years, so I wouldn't say you're a reliable source of feedback," said Lily, and she finally met his gaze. It was only for a matter-of-fact second, where her pink lips threatened to smile, before her eyes slid onto Sirius and her features returned to nonchalance. "What do you think, Black? You seem to take care of your hair."

Sirius grinned at James' affronted expression, and responded smoothly, "I think you look dashing, Evans. The random hair accessory really suits you."

"Thank you," she smiled, reaching back to tie the ribbon in her hair. "At least I can say I'm endorsed by Sampson, and not the bohemian uncouth version of John Lennon."

Remus snorted into his apple juice. James looked at a loss for words, the Muggle reference flying straight over his wild haired head.

Marlene shot a last grin at them before taking Lily's arm and saying, "Come on. Time to get some food in you. That's the third person you've snapped at today!"

Lily frowned, though allowed herself to be dragged away further down the table where Mary MacDonald sat already. Her reply floated to them: "But Potter hardly counts-"

James slumped back in his seat, eyes wide and exasperated behind his glasses. "Did you hear that boys? She doesn't think I'm a person!"

Even so, there was a little smile curling his lips.

"Technically," Peter said, mouth full with egg, and he paused to swallow before he continued speaking. "You're not 100% a person. You're like, 10% a stag."

"And 5% a dick if you're up to it," Remus contributed.

"Or if a certain greasy haired snake happened to walk by," said Sirius, vindictive smile tightening his cheeks.

James' eyes followed his friend's to the door and sure enough, Severus Snape appeared. He had not changed since their first year, and though their clashes had been violent and plentiful, James felt a sense of trepidation coil in his stomach. He swallowed.

"Not this year," he said.

Sirius' cool grey eyes cut to him.

"Don't take away my favourite chew toy, James. That's no fun at all."

"I just think it's getting tiresome. There's more to Hogwarts than petty fights with Slytherins."

"And certain Prefects with red hair and green eyes who despise your guts," Sirius added pleasantly.

"She's warming to me," said James, confidence overshadowed by a softness in his voice. His eyes found her easily. "She managed to get three whole words out before she insulted me! In fact, I'd say there was the hint of a compliment in there- she commended my gene pool!"

Remus raised his eyebrows. Sirius rolled his eyes. Peter lifted his goblet, waiting to swallow his food before he grinned, and announced, "To James. The ultimate master of slow burn seduction! And gene pools!"

Though hesitance etched the deep grooves of his face, Remus held up his goblet and clinked the glass together. At James' pleased but surprised look, he shrugged, "Technically speaking, he's not wrong."

Sirius refused to join in, adamantly avoiding even discussing the matter. In fact, he only perked up when breakfast was well under way and James murmured, "It's time."

Peter downed the rest of his juice. Sirius flicked his fork off the table.

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Was that entirely necessary?"

Sirius grinned. "I'd like to think so."

As he stooped to pick it up, he slid his wand from his sleeve, and flicked it under his arm; the incantation, “Wingardium Leviosa,” was a controlled and powerful murmur from his lips, audible to his ears alone. He paused in the position for just a few moments as the insurmountable waves of his magic rippled across the hall, falling like fairy dust over the students’ heads and onto their cutlery and dinnerware before, without wasting another second, Sirius was up on his feet, blowing his fork and sitting back down in his seat. He sent a wink at Remus.

Remus merely quirked an eyebrow, though his exasperation was quickly pursued by amusement. James watched the exchange, excitement shining in his bright eyes, and he gave the nod. Sirius dragged his wand upwards.

On cue, the tableware slowly started floating, hovering to suspend amongst the candles. A few students noticed immediately, falling quiet as their eyes followed their departing plates and goblets. Others remained oblivious, continuing their conversations as if their cutlery hadn’t just started flying.

Remus didn't give them much time to react, for he cleared his throat subtly and muttered something under his breath; his lips barely moved. The flatware immediately stopped in mid-air. Then, they burst into song:

_"Hogwarts, Hogwarts,_

_Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please!"_

The knives twirled, the spoons clinked, the forks clashed, the plates spun, and all the while they sung with gallous bravado. The goblets supplied the bass, whilst the dishes and platters sung the baritone. This meant it was up to the cutlery to fulfil the soprano, and the Great Hall was brimming with music and life. Sirius kept his wand under the table, though he was directing it this way and that as though he was the grand conductor of his very own vastly elaborate and thrilling show, with heroes and villains and damsels in distress.

_“Whether we be old and bald,_

_Or young with scabby knees.”_

Peter had procured a shielding charm above the tables so the food and drink that sloshed out of the dancing dishes and goblets from above would artfully cascade down around the students, like some waterfall of disgusting chaos. He seemed to have forgotten to cover the Slytherin table for Pumpkin Juice and scrambled egg rained down upon them, sending them scurrying from their seats, screaming and cursing. Milk dripped down Snape’s hair, and he clenched his fists and closed his eyes to try to control his fury.

Sirius couldn’t help himself. “Oh look, Snivellus is actually washing his hair for once! It’s been so long I’m surprised he recognises it as a bodily function.”

_“Our heads could do with filling,_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff.”_

Even so, the school lit up at the sight of their silverware pirouetting and singing. Some of the older students joined in, and their out of tune warbles rounded off the perfected fabrication of the opera-singing crockery. The First Years sat and watched in awe, necks snapped back, heads tilted to the ceiling; small smiles curled their lips. Slughorn clapped his walrus hands along.

_“So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot."_

"There's no way I'm letting this one go unaccounted for," James murmured under his breath and he stood up. He took a deep breath, and Sirius grinned at him, before he lifted his wand and a beaming violet light glissaded from the end of it, darting through the air. It soared over everyone’s heads and the entirety of Hogwarts could only sit and watch as the magic, crackling and warm, collided with a spoon.

There was a small ting and the spoon exploded, shattering into purple sparks, erupting as a firework. From there on, the sky of the Great Hall went off like the fifth of November, and every piece of cutlery, every knife, spoon and fork, every dish, every goblet and jug, every plate and bowl, imploded and fractured into sparks of multi-coloured light.

The response was instantaneous, and the crowd let out sighs of astonishment and squeals of surprise, jumping to their feet at the first loud bang. Sirius glanced at his brother, and he felt his insides jolt at the soft look on James’ face. There was no tightness, just a slack wonderment for magic. The fireworks could be seen erupting in his glasses.

James’ eyes strayed from the sparklers and they found Lily.

The colours kissed her hair eclectically, painting her pale skin in pink and yellow and blue. She must have felt his gaze for she looked at him.

 _‘What do you think?_ ’ he mouthed, eyebrows raising.

Her lips split into a wide and brilliant smile, and James felt his breath trickling from him. Lily’s awestruck, green eyes flicked away and they absorbed everything in the room, before she turned back to him, and mouthed, ‘ _Magical_.’

And as they fell, the sparks slowed, reaching for one another and reforming their original bodies, until bowls were curved and forks were reshaped and the four tables were back to normal.

There was a silence in the hall, in which the Marauders basked in the success of their plan- and then Professor Dumbledore began clapping. His blue eyes were amused and twinkling as he surveyed them over the top of his moon shaped spectacles. McGonagall joined in soon after, thin lips twisted in that secret smile of hers. Before they knew it, the entire school was clapping and cheering. James’ grin was electric, and he took a small bow.

They finished their breakfast, though each was far too excited to eat properly, before standing and leaving for their first class of the school year. It was when they got to the double doors of the Great Hall that they noticed their Head of House sweeping towards them, and Sirius slowed his pace at the sight of her decided gait.

“Mr Black,” McGonagall said, lips pursed tightly. Her beady eyes were fixed on his face, over the top of her glasses. Sirius looked at her, and he felt just a sliver of nerves in his gut. She regarded him pointedly for a few tense seconds before she said, “That was a very impressive display. Why is it I struggle to get you to work this hard in my class?”

His body relaxed, face melting into an easy and triumphant grin.

“Minnie, you know I love you, but the thrill of good grades is nothing on this.” He looked out at the Great Hall again, and the firecrackers went off in his brain like euphoric fragments of the past. “I doubt I’ll find anything that is.”


	4. Chapter Four- Hypothetically, of course

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’m so sorry this has taken so long to write! Honestly, after the last chapter, I had no idea where I wanted this to go next, and then I didn’t have the time to write anything!!

** Chapter Four- Hypothetically, of course **

 

They made it to class just as the school bell rang, slipping into the room and taking their seats. McGonagall wasn't there yet, no doubt having some important business to attend to, and the class, a mixture of Sixth Year Gryffindors and Slytherins, chatted happily.

Sirius tugged the chair out and collapsed into the seat beside Remus. His veins were still buzzing, a loose grin curling his lips. Remus regarded him closely, almost suspiciously.

Sirius turned to him, eyebrow raised. “Don’t drink me dry, Moony. Save some for the rest of them.”

“I’m just surprised you haven’t done anything equally as disruptive as this morning’s spectacle,” replied Remus wearily. “Usually, the adrenaline doesn’t leave your blood until you’ve caused enough trouble to make several calls for your head and one physical attempt.”

Sirius had the audacity to look offended for a moment, but it was replaced with an even wider grin than he sported before, and his eyes fell on the jumble of books strewn across Remus’ desk. There was only a second where he considered how neat that pile had been a few years ago, and how every pencil and quill and ink pot had had its place. It had seemed to him at the time that Remus was just pedantic. Now, he knew he couldn’t be further from the truth. It wasn’t that Remus was pedantic, it was that he was so desperate to control all that he could to make up for the one thing he couldn’t.

They had stamped that habit out of him. Sixteen year old Remus wore his cardigan only half-buttoned up, his jeans fraying, his hair never brushed. He was a mess of heart and warmth, finally, though not fully, accepting of the cards the universe had dealt him.

Sirius’ eyes narrowed on the ink pot, his brow creasing with concentration. Then, he jerked his head and the pot went flying to the front of the room, splattering on the wall and leaving a black, unpleasant mark. A few students whipped round in surprise.

“You make me so mad,” Remus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, looking oddly proud of himself. “They do say art is supposed to evoke emotion.”

“Not the kind that makes me want to see you stuffed and gagged-”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, and his voice was lavish and suggestive when he said, “Stuffed and gagged where, Moony? Do tell.”

Remus scowled, though there was a telling blush creeping up his shirt, tinging his ears pink. Sirius’ eyes remained on him for a second longer, small smirk playing at the corner of his lips, before he turned his attention to the front of the room. He let out a bark of laughter when Remus muttered something in Welsh under his breath.

“Mr Black,” Professor McGonagall said, appearing suddenly, lips pursed, beady eyes peering at him over the rims of her square, wireframe glasses.

He grinned dazzlingly at her. "Minnie."

The arch of her eyebrow rose a little higher, as if that was possible.

She glanced at the black stain on the wall and sighed. "You are the reason for seating plans, Mr Black."

Sirius cocked his head at her, though the grin remained loosely threaded through his pink lips. "Oh, Minnie. If you want me all for yourself, you need only ask."

She regarded him for a moment, and it seemed as though he had succeeded in wringing a droplet of amusement from her old and stubborn frame, for her mouth quirked in what could only be a smile.

"Mr Lupin, if you don't mind, please sit next to Miss Evans."

Remus exhaled through his nose, but obediently started collecting his things and grabbed his bag from the floor. Sirius' hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around Remus' wrist before he could walk away.

"Minnie, do anything. Cut my hair. Expel me. But do not condemn me to a life of loneliness in this class."

Here, a smirk ( _an actual smirk!)_ tilted McGonagall's lips, and she said pointedly, "Oh, Mr Black, I wouldn't dream of it."

His shoulders relaxed, though he didn't loosen his grip on Remus.

"Mr Snape, please could you move to sit beside Mr Black. After all, I wouldn't want to 'condemn him' to solitude."

Remus raised his eyebrows, and he looked between his friend and his professor. Sirius' face had darkened considerably, though there was a gleam of grudging respect, and Snape was turning a particularly putrid colour of purple himself.

"Touché, Minnie," Sirius muttered, relinquishing his grip on Remus and letting him sit down.

Snape slinked across the classroom, and he moved like some sort of bat, shrouded in shadow and keen to keep his head down and his narrowed eyes clipping his feet. Sirius could feel James’ eyes on him, heated and warning, though he paid no attention. Especially not when he kicked the chair leg as Snape went to sit down, sending it skidding away.

The Slytherin sent him a dark look before wrenching it and sitting down quickly, lest Sirius try again.

McGonagall began her lesson, spelling a piece of chalk to write down everything she said on the blackboard, and her students copied away. Sirius tipped his head back, and stared at the ceiling. This was something he could recite in his sleep; they’d done in fourth year and he’d found it just as easy then.

His eyes strayed from the ceiling to the rest of the class. There was Lily’s flaming red hair at the front and, true to form, it was bowed over her desk, writing furiously. He didn’t know what James had done after the Snape incident last year, or how hard he had pleaded, but Lily had been perfectly amiable with them for the final month of term and Sirius knew better than to question it. In all honestly, he quite liked the smiles she sometimes extended to him, and the way her laugh would make all others fall silent if only to listen to it, James the quickest of them all. He glanced at his friend and noticed the other boy wasn’t focusing on Transfiguration at all, for his eyes were glued to page, sketching a little snitch. Though Sirius couldn’t see it properly, he thought he spied four very familiar initials etched within the wings, but let the smirk blossom and kept silent, looking back at Lily.

Marlene was sitting in front of her, blonde curls a halo, looking golden from the sunlight that sifted down from the high windows. Sirius felt a small smile play at his lips. He liked Marlene- he always had done, ever since he had first laid eyes upon the ridiculously tiny spitfire in First Year when she had gotten her foot stuck in a vanishing step Peeves had addled with. She’d been spitting out curses left, right and centre, which had young Sirius Black both amused and awed. He’d offered help and though first, she had told him exactly where he could go shove his help, she’d relented when it seemed wiggling was only making her leg sink deeper into whatever invisible gunge Peeves had planted there.

Since then, Sirius had found she was very much like him: brash and loud, explosive and often too much, wild and free. He’d thought maybe he loved her because her freckles were faint against her pale skin, and her eyes were that kind of blue that matched the sky, and she’d made him laugh. They’d tried it out at the start of fifth year, however, but were over by Christmas. He did love her, just not the way he wanted to. Marls had been fine, claiming she felt the same, and they’d remained close friends ever since.

She was currently turned around in her seat, ignoring the notes on the board, and asking Remus something. Sirius’ eyes shifted to the latter, eyeing his golden head of hair which he’d grown out over the summer.

He tore a bit of parchment from his scroll, scribbling a small doodle and muttering a quick spell to animate the image, before scrunching it up and throwing it at Remus. It hit his neck, bouncing off and landing in the centre aisle. Sirius swore he could see Remus’ eyes rolling back into his head.

He turned around and raised an eyebrow.

Sirius nodded to the ball of parchment.

Remus sighed, eyes flicking to McGonagall and back, before he stretched out, his jumper riding, and nicked it between his long fingers.

He faced the front again, though Sirius knew he was looking at by the way his shoulders started shaking and a hint of a smile quirked at his lips. Remus looked over his shoulder and cast him an amused smile.

Pleased with himself, Sirius picked up his quill, dipped it in his ink pot, and proceeded to copying the notes down.

"I'm surprised you and Lupin are still on talking terms," murmured Snape silkily, hand tightly controlling the curl of his o's and sharp crosses of his t's as he copied the work from the board.

Sirius' hand clenched around his quill, knuckles turning white. He grinded his teeth.

Snape continued, "After last year-”

“You mean when you nearly got yourself killed and lost your best friend because you’re a racist all in less than a fortnight? Yes, I remember,” replied Sirius easily. His voice was as hard as flint.

Snape’s lip twitched. He leaned in closer and hissed, “ _You_ led me straight to Lupin! What would’ve happened if I’d have told somebody?”

“Oh, Snape,” said Sirius, and his voice was dark and low. “You wouldn’t like to know.”

He met his gaze for a moment, eyes flashing, face straight. Snape tried to maintain the eye contact, but he returned his attention to his work soon after. Sirius couldn’t help but let his eyes stray to Remus a final time before he cracked on, knowing McGonagall would make him stay behind and risk detention from his next teacher if he didn’t finish.

Marlene whipped round in her seat yet again, and Remus fixed her with an amused look.

"Finally escaped Black, have you?"

Lily pushed her completed set of notes aside, returning her quill to its pot. She smiled at the pair of them. "It's only taken you, what, five years?"

"Is that all it's been?" Remus retorted mildly. "My, it feels like a lifetime."

“He’s like a poison,” said Marlene, resting her pointed chin on her knuckles. Her red lips curled devilishly. “Infecting everyone around him with his euphoric mischief.”

“On the contrary,” snorted Remus. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he regarded her, those golden eyes swimming with thinly veiled amusement. “Clearly your disease-riddled mind forgets what Sirius Black was like in First Year.”

Lily frowned. “What was Sirius Black like in First Year?”

“The epitome of a Pureblood poster child,” he replied, smirk blossoming across his face as Lily’s eyebrows shot up her forehead.

“Bullshit,” Marlene laughed. “I remember him perfectly! Saved me from Peeves, he did.”

“He was all manners and courtesy. So was James, now I come to think about it.”

“Potter?” exclaimed Lily incredulously.

Remus looked between the two girls, smiling. “They’re Purebloods. They might’ve missed out on the racist and ignorant gene, but they certainly retained their manners. Sirius called McGonagall ‘ma’am’ for a whole year before she convinced him ‘Professor’ was just as acceptable.”

“So how did they become Potter and Black, rebellious tyrants and foolhardy Marauders?” questioned Marlene. Her eyes glimmered, and she was smiling toothily. Remus thought she looked more beautiful like this, when she wasn’t trying at all, when she was just existing. She cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you were their bad influence, Lupin.”

He held out his arms, looking at them both innocently. “I’m a Half-Blood with a Welsh farmer for a mother. Give me some credit.”

“You were the quietest boy in our year, First Year,” said Lily, bumping her shoulder with his. “Aside from Pettigrew, maybe.”

“Maybe,” replied Remus, and his eyes got that glazed look of reminiscence. He looked younger, lost in the thralls of a memory that made his lips quirk and his face soft. “But despite all their gallantry, there’s something about the way Sirius Black and James Potter look at you that has you feeling like you can achieve anything in the world.”

“So this infection comes from you, Lupin?” Marlene demanded, amused.

Remus winced. Lily noticed. He shook his head and said, “No. I like to think I just ignited whatever childish spark of mischief was there… And taught them a few swear words to brighten their vocabulary.”

“How indecent!”

His eyes flicked to her. “You swear like a sailor, McKinnon. That act doesn’t fool me.” And she smirked.

Lily swallowed, suddenly concerned as a thought pervaded her mind, and she glanced towards the back of the class. Sirius and Snape weren’t even acknowledging each other. For some reason, it made her frown.

“I’m surprised they haven’t torn each other apart yet,” she commented in a hushed voice.

Remus and Marlene followed her gaze. Remus looked back at his desk hastily.

“Boys are so silly,” said Marlene with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You hold grudges for too long and let petty rivalries dictate your life.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “What about you and Dolohov? You hated each other the moment you set eyes on one another.”

“We got over it!”

“How?” demanded Lily.

“By having passionate, angry sex,” replied Marlene sensually. Remus coughed. Lily’s eyes shot out of her head.

“Dolohov took your-?” Lily began, nearly squeaking.

“No, he wasn’t my first.” Marlene shook her head and Lily relaxed slightly. She smirked, then said, “What did Sirius throw at you anyway?”

Remus frowned, squeezing the scrunched up ball of parchment in his fist and said, “Nothing.”

She cocked her head, eyes calculating. “I see how it is. I overshare and you all go scuttling. Was it a love note?”

This time, Remus choked. “ _No!”_

He couldn’t find the words to address the irony of that statement, and explain to Marlene that the stupid prat had merely doodled McGonagall chastising him, only to animate himself turning into his animagus form and replying practically, ‘ _It’s this sort of **dog** matism that’s tearing our school apart!’_

McGonagall didn’t raise her eyes from her work, merely flicked her wand, flipping the blackboard and tapped the set of instructions she assigned them to practise when turning stationary into edible food and drink, adding exasperatedly, “And for goodness sake, Pettigrew, don’t eat your textbook like last time!”

There were a few snickers and Peter blushed a bright pink, pushing his textbook away from him and opting to transfigure his pencil instead.

They spent the rest of the class doing this, some achieving it earlier than others. At one point, when Lily had successfully managed to procure a strawberry cheesecake from her pencil case, and sat on her desk, laughing at the chaos of Marlene’s leather sandwich, and practically clutching her stomach at the outburst of disgust that followed, her eyes strayed to the back of the room. Everyone else was busy trying to accomplish the task, but James Potter was sitting in his chair, tilted back, amused eyes watching Sirius struggle and swear. His ink pot, now a chocolate gateau, sat in front of him. He must have felt eyes on him for he looked over then. Lily held his gaze, and they stared at one another for a while, then he smiled. She felt her lips smiling back on their own accord and quickly looked away.

She was sure he was still staring.

Willing her cheeks not to go red, she grinned at Marlene, whose leather now resembled something a little bit closer to bread. Her friend was glaring at the offensive sandwich in question. Her blue eyes flicked up and back again.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that.”

“See what?” inquired Lily innocently.

Marlene shot her a look. “I thought you’d decided he was the big, bad evil. It’s only been a summer. Surely, six weeks hasn’t wiped your memory clean-”

“I _know_ he’s an arsehole,” she said. Lily swallowed, adding quietly, “He apologised to me after what happened, though.”

Marlene’s head shot up at that and she raised her blonde eyebrows. “Well? What did he say?”

“Does it matter?” said Lily. “He rectified things. That’s all I needed. Just an apology.”

“Really? Gosh, you’re so wet. Potter’s _groovy!_ And fit! I mean, if I had him yapping at _my_ heels-”

“You’d give him a boot because he’s not nearly your type,” Lily finished for her knowingly.

Marlene paused. She held up her wand and tapped Lily on the nose with it. “You are too smart for your own good, sunshine.”

Lily just beamed.

The bell rang when only half the class had managed to transfigure their stationary, and McGonagall swept her wand, returning all the quills, books and cases to their original state.

“We will be continuing with this next lesson and I expect you all to practise before then! You are dismissed.”

The students shoved their things into their bags, escaping from the room in throngs and groups, laughing and talking with one another. Sirius, Remus and Peter had already disappeared outside as James took his time putting his equipment away. He shoved his wand behind his ear and started to leave.

“Mr Potter!”

He turned around, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Yes, Professor?”

There was a small, secret smile curling his Head of House’s lips, and she said, “You exhibited a high level of magic this morning at breakfast, and put on a truly extraordinary spectacle. You should be proud of yourself, James.”

James smiled lopsidedly at her, dipping his head in thanks. “Cheers, Professor.”

“Now go. Slughorn may be lenient, but he’s also desperate to win House Cup this year, especially after that hugely embarrassing Quidditch match before the summer.”

McGonagall’s smile had turned into a smirk. James grinned. “Yes, Professor.”

He continued walking, but paused in the doorway, looking back once more. “You don’t have to worry, Minnie. I’m not going to let that happen. You’ll get your trophy.”

James disappeared then, not waiting around to see McGonagall’s weathered face break into a warm, fond smile. She stared at the spot he’d been in over the top of her glasses for a few moments after he left, before turning back to her work.

**oOo**

**March 1975**

_“Professor?”_

_McGonagall barely glanced up._

_“What do you need, Potter?”_

_The rest of the class had filed out, fourth years exploding with glee at the promise of a weekend of snow. Only one, Miss Evans, had remained focused enough to complete her task, successfully turning her quill into a little chocolate biscuit. The rest of her students, a mixture of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, had been regretfully preoccupied by the fact that Sirius Black was turning Pettigrew all different colours every time she turned her back._

_At his prolonged silence, McGonagall raised her eyes to him, eyebrows arched. “Yes, Mr Potter? What can I do for you?”_

_He was many things was James Potter: tall and gangly, intelligent and kind, talented on the Quidditch Pitch and loyal to a fault, perhaps some would even call him cocky, but she sat back in her chair and stared at him for she had never seen him_ scared.

_“Mr Potter,” McGonagall began quietly, softer this time, putting down her quill. “What’s troubling you?”_

_It was as though those three words triggered a change in him, a front that flipped up and presented to her a façade of surety. He grinned at her, though she remained acutely aware of the worry swimming in the hazel of his eyes behind his glasses._

_“Nothing, Minnie,” he replied flippantly, holding onto the one strap of his bag that was slung over his shoulder. “I just had an educational question.”_

_“Oh?”_

_That made her eyebrow rise higher._

_He nodded, stopping in front of her desk. McGonagall peered up at him._

_“Let’s say, purely hypothetically speaking of course, that one wishes to become an Animagi,” began James. The Professor schooled her features carefully to conceal the flicker of surprise she felt. He fixed her with a knowing look. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? An Animagi. We haven’t done about them yet- it’s fifth year stuff- which is why I was wondering… how one might go about doing that?”_

_McGonagall regarded him for a moment, with pursed lips. Perhaps the boy was just curious. But no- she noticed the spark of curiosity was far too adamant in his eyes, drowning in something else._ Desperation _._

_“There is an entire library with information yours for the taking, Mr Potter-”_

_“I know,” replied James. “But I’ve looked. And nothing goes into detail.”_

_“Well, that’s because the process is long and arduous, Mr Potter. Any mistake, however small, can result in disaster… which is why one would have to register with the Ministry and inform them of what they are attempting, of course.”_

_“Of course, of course,” he replied quickly. There was something about his hasty dismissal which made her think that part of the process would be deleted almost as soon as he had left the room._

_McGonagall narrowed her eyes in thought behind her spectacles, but she relented. “One must first keep a single mandrake leaf in their mouth for an entire month, full moon to full moon. At the next visible full moon, the wizard must spit the leaf into a phial within range of the moon’s pure rays. If this is not possible, say the sky was cloudy, one would have to begin from scratch-”_

_“What if you removed the leaf?” James frowned. She stopped herself from reprimanding him for cutting in, catching his genuine puzzlement._

_“You’d have to begin again or the effort would be moot,” she explained, then continued, “One must then add a strand of their own hair, a silver teaspoon of dew that has not seen sunlight or been touched by human feet for seven days, and the chrysalis of a Death's-Head Hawk Moth. All very hard and tricky ingredients to come by, save the first. The phial must be then put in a quiet, dark place and be in no way disturbed, aside from the chanting of the incantation ‘_ Amato Animo Animato Animagus’ _at sunrise and sundown._

_“At the next electrical storm, one must drink the potion and wait for the transformation.”_

_McGonagall finished speaking, and waited with pursed lips for him to speak. James was frowning still, lips flattened in thought. His index finger was tapping away at his leg. He seemed to realise then that she was watching him expectantly and asked, “Is that it?”_

_She nearly laughed. “Yes, Potter. You should be grateful there is no more, should you ever choose to become one.”_

_And then he snapped back into his thoughts, and the Professor wondered what on earth could be occupying him so. Whatever it was, it was either eating him away or making the cogs in his head turn so speedily his ears were starting to emit steam. By the gleam in his eye, she guessed the latter._

_“Mr Potter,” McGonagall sighed. “What is this-?”_

_James interrupted quickly, “Animagi don’t retain any humanity when they turn apart from their brain, yes?”_

_She blinked. “Yes- I believe so. We simply become our animal. Another animal in passing would not be able to differentiate us from itself, least of all be able to tell we were human.”_

_“Brilliant.” A grin broke across his face then, and he looked like he wanted to hug her but daren’t. Instead, his chest swelled and his shoulders straightened and he said earnestly, “Thank you, Professor. Truly. For everything,” before setting off out of the classroom._

_McGonagall stared after him._

_There was something about the determination in his stride that had her deeply regretting this entire encounter. She stood up quickly behind her desk._

_“We are speaking hypothetically, are we not, Mr Potter?” she called after him._

_She heard his reply float to her from the corridor outside, along with his rapid footsteps. “Of course, Minnie! I would never dream of lying to you!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’ve decided this is how I am going to do this fic! I’m going to go ahead from their sixth year now, but include scenes that I feel are relevant and necessary to show in italics at either the start or end of a chapter they relate toJ I’m so so so excited for this fic, I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it!


	5. Chapter Five- Dahlia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I am terrible at updates. Really terrible. Hopefully, a chapter in Lily’s perspective will make up for the length of time you’ve had to wait for it. I want this fic to be a complete story for all the characters, so it will vary and switch focus a lot, whilst still telling the overarching story we all know, love and hate. If you’re in England (or anywhere hit by ‘The Beast from the East’ at the moment) then I hope you’re all safe and warm.

**AN: I am terrible at updates. Really terrible. Hopefully, a chapter in Lily’s perspective will make up for the length of time you’ve had to wait for it. I want this fic to be a complete story for all the characters, so it will vary and switch focus a lot, whilst still telling the overarching story we all know, love and hate. If you’re in England (or anywhere hit by ‘The Beast from the East’ at the moment) then I hope you’re all safe and warm.**

****

** Chapter Five- Dahlia **

****

**July 1976**

_“Lily!”_

_“I don’t want to speak to you, Potter. I don’t even want to look at you.”_

_James skirted round yet another corner, hand scraping against the rough stone, shoes skidding against the floor. He let out a laboured groan when he saw the flash of her red hair disappear on the other side of the corridor._

_“Lily!”_

_He pelted, footsteps clattering in an attempt to reach her. She eventually stopped, whirling round and James had to steal a breath._

_The floor they were on was empty; the rest of the students had retired to the sun-drenched grounds of Hogwarts, keen to soak up the first of the summer warmth during the last of their days at school. Even now, the sunlight spiralled down from the high windows, pooling on the floor, lighting Lily’s vivid hair on fire. She was staring at him. Or maybe, glaring was more appropriate. Her green eyes were narrowed and shining, and he noticed tears were threatening to spill every time she moved. She was trembling, and judging from the flush of her cheeks and the tautness of her lips, it was from anger._

_She was furious with him._

_James winced._

_He started forward slowly, holding his arms out to placate her as though she was a feral animal about to pounce. Lily’s glare never faltered._

_“Lily, please, just let me apologise-“_

_“I don’t want to hear it, Potter. What part of that do you not understand?”_

_James closed his eyes and tried again. He said, and he ignored the plea so clear in his voice because it made him sound pathetic, “Lily, please. It was nothing. You don’t understand-“_

_“I do, though!” stressed Lily. Her hands were clutching her hips so tightly her knuckles were turning white. “You’re just as much of a bigot as Avery and Mulciber! Only you claim self-righteousness whilst you do it!”_

_“What Sni-Snape called you-“_

_“Was none of your business!” she interrupted heatedly. The blush on her cheeks creeped down her neck. “It was between him and me. I can handle myself, Potter! I’m a big girl!”_

_“He threatened Remus!”_

_James knew it was a long shot and he knew the words shouldn’t have made it out of his mouth, but there was no one he trusted more than Lily._

_She visibly floundered. Her lips opened then closed. “What?”_

_He pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes. “He threatened Remus, and I- I couldn’t just stand back and let that happen. He was- he was unnecessarily cruel, Lily.” James swallowed at the thought, at the memory of Snape’s eyes in the dark, dawning with malicious understanding as the trapdoor above their heads rained dust and snarls wheedled their way through the grain. He honestly thought that would be it. It had played through his mind for nights on end: the dark, the wet dew, the sinister glee on Snape’s pale face-_

_“That doesn’t change the times before,” said Lily slowly, but there was a hesitation that suggested she knew all too well how cruel her friend could be._

_“I know,” replied James, sensing her melting. “I know but I tried. I tried to ignore him but he kept provoking me. Lily, it wasn’t-“_

_“You always do this,” she said, almost tiredly. James’ mouth snapped shut at the sudden change in her voice. Her arms fell to her sides. She looked like in the second of his excuses, she had popped and deflated. “You hurt people so carelessly and then you run around, grappling to pick up the pieces. It never occurs to you that sometimes the damage can’t be reversed. Sometimes, you can’t be forgiven, James.”_

_He felt each of her words like a blow to his gut, but his first name, dropping from her lips like a stone in water, finished him._

_“Lily,” he began, desperation and panic tinging his voice, making his fingers shake. “Lily, tell me what I can do. Tell me what I can do to make this right!”_

_She sighed. It was a long sigh, one that started in her chest, tickled her heart and fell heavy and cold in the air. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do. You can’t change who you are.”_

_“I can,” he promised, daring to step closer. There were millimetres between them, and Lily’s breath caught in her throat. “I can be better.” His whisper fractured in the loaded space. She closed her eyes and the tears fell. James reached out and wiped one away, cradling the back of her head and leaning his chin against her hair. “I can be better for you. I won’t hurt Snape anymore. I won’t hurt anyone.”_

_“James,” she said._

_“I’m so sorry. I’m not asking for anything else, I’ll never ask for anything else again. Just please, forgive me.”_

oOoOoOo

 

**September 1977**

 

She was staring again.

She knew because the rest of the world appeared rather abruptly around his head, and the din of the Great Hall assaulted her ears the moment she blinked. Lily cleared her throat, shaking her head to try and dispel whatever had been running through her mind and straightened up in her seat.

Honestly, she couldn’t quite pinpoint why she was staring at James Potter. Sure, he was pretty, with his dark hair, strong jaw, and hazel eyes that sparked every time the grin was lit at his lips. But he was also a bully. An arrogant, self-righteous bully-

_“I can be better for you.”_

Only Lily wasn’t sure that was true anymore.

After the incident at the end of their fifth year, when he’d chased her through the school and promised with sincerity ringed eyes to be better, he hadn’t accosted Snape once. Nor any other poor unsuspecting child as it was. For a year, Lily had been privy to a boy she had only seen snatches and glimmers of, and it surprised her.

Lily Evans had known James Potter for nearly seven years now. She had known he was in love with her for almost four. It wasn’t very difficult to figure out- for all his strengths, he was terribly obvious, and she’d had to get used to the lingering stares, the bashful smiles, the sudden comments and vies for her attention. At first, Lily had actually found it quite flattering. She’d blushed and laughed and gossiped, and then she stumbled upon him tormenting Snape, the latter stripped to his underwear in front of corridors full of people, and her stomach had felt heavy and light at the same time and she’d wondered how she could hope to fall in love with anyone so vile.

Regardless of any shows of civility they had attempted over the years, their relationship had always been a rocky one. She clashed with his arrogance, his foolhardiness, his ignorance, his easy-going earnestness that always seemed to get him off the hook, even with McGonagall. He clashed with her righteousness, her morals, her religion, her inexcusable belief that everybody deserved a chance, despite how they treated others. He found her increasingly irritating and loved her for it. She found him ever the bully and hated him for the fact that he didn’t seem to care.

Except that wasn’t true.

Her recent piqued interest in him wasn’t anything more than that. Lily was simply surprised that James Potter was human, after all. But she had to stop _staring-_

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” Dorcas was saying when Lily next blinked. She was spreading strawberry jam on her toast, surveying a flippant Marlene with arched eyebrows.

“What’s not fair?”

Marlene looked at her in surprise. “Well, it’s nice of you to join us! How was your trip? Did you get all the pining done you wanted?”

“I-” spluttered Lily. She closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “I was _not_ pining.”

“You were. And drooling,” said Dorcas, taking a bite of her toast when the scowl was redirected to her.

Lily frowned. Absently, her eyes drifted back down the table.

“And we’ve lost her again-”

“What’s not fair?” Lily repeated, switching her attention to the two of them. They shared an amused glance but didn’t comment, allowing her abrupt change of topic.

“Nothing important,” shrugged Marlene.

“It sounded important.”

“It wasn’t,” Dorcas smiled.

Lily picked up her spoon and waggled it between them. She said warningly, “I know you’re both lying to me.”

“That makes three of us,” said Marlene sweetly.

“You’re infuriating,” Lily told her. She wasn’t particularly hungry and her cereal had gone soggy, so she pushed back the bench and climbed out. “I need to go to the Owlery anyway. I’ll see you in Potions.”

“No, you won’t. I’m in Herbology,” said Dorcas.

Marlene pulled a face. “And I might not turn up just to prove a point.”

Lily was already half way down the table, but they managed to make a small smile curl her lips. She didn’t stop but twirled round to face them, holding her arms out and singing, “Wankers!”

Marlene’s laugh carried around the hall, following her until the doors had shut behind her.

She didn’t stop as she crossed the entrance hall, jogging up the stairs in the direction of the West Tower. Her bag felt heavy on her back, and regardless of all of her books and quills and spare quills and ink, Lily thought the letter placed carefully on top of everything else was the weightiest.

Her eyes stung. She’d woken up earlier than usual that morning, before the sun had even touched the skies. Lily had sat up, leaning against the headboard, heart fluttering dangerously in her chest, and waited for the light to break through the slit in the curtains before she’d folded back her sheets, made her bed and slipped into the Common Room. She had sat on the crimson settee, staring into the fire. And then when her feet grew cold, she collected some parchment from her trunk and her quill and returned to kneel on the floor by the ash fire.

The paper had remained blank for some while. Every time she reached for her quill, her fingers would shake so violently that she gave up and traced the grooves of the table instead.

Every year, on this day, Lily would wake up early, having not been able to sleep, and stare at the blank bit of paper, wondering what acceptable thing you could write to a stranger on their birthday. Although, Petunia wasn’t a stranger-

Her sister was the first thing she remembered. Memories that were saturated and hazy, bleached with light and faded by time. She was her first friend, her first playmate, the first person to make her laugh. Lily knew that Tuney liked running around because the flimsy pain in her side always made her feel victorious. She knew that her favourite colour was peach because it was the colour of the dahlia flowers that grew by the stream in summer back home in Nottingham, and she liked liquorice tea when she was ill.

She wasn’t a stranger.

Lily just didn’t know her anymore.

She sighed into the warm palm of her hand, eyeing the blank paper with a frown. Forcing her hand to grip her quill, she sighed again and proceeded to write.

The letter was now tucked into her bag, sealed with the red wax and stamped with the Hogwarts crest Marlene had bought her for Christmas in her Second Year. Lily walked quickly. The Owlery was located in the highest corner of Hogwarts, the West Tower, separated from the rest of the school by a heavy wooden door, and set at the top of fifty three stone steps (she and Mary had counted them on their first trip there). The pillars stretched to the sky, holding up the roof, with nests and perches lining the walls. There must have been a hundred, maybe two hundred, owls, swooping in and out as they pleased, preening and plucking themselves, watching her with disinterested eyes.

Her mother hadn’t let her buy an owl, despite Lily’s sincerest efforts to convince her that they were a necessity in the Wizarding World, because she’d said it would eat her budgie. In the summer, she’d had to rely on her friends’ owls to be able to reply to their letters. Now, she’d have to use a school one.

It was cold up here. October was right around the corner, in the crisp wintry air, in the late dying of the night, and Lily made quick work of undoing her bag, offering the letter to the friendliest looking owl she could find along with a treat as thanks. She watched it as it took off, spreading its large wings and taking to the skies. She didn’t look away until it had disappeared into the clouds, feeling as though it was taking a crucial part of her heart with it, and even then, when the tiny black speck of undulating wings had faded away, she waited a few moments more.

Then, she tore her eyes away. The owls squawked above her head, cooing and nipping each other when they encroached on their nests. Lily swallowed and found that although her throat felt dry and rough, she could breathe a lot easier, like the air had cleared. She fastened back up her bag, swinging it onto her shoulders and checked her watch-

She froze. She was going to be late.

Lily swore, bolting down the stone steps, and bursting through the wooden door at the bottom. She quickened her pace, and noticed faintly that her heart felt significantly lighter as she rushed down the corridors to her Potions lesson, falling through the door and onto her stool just as Slughorn emerged from his office.

Marlene glanced at her, smirking at the pinkness of her cheeks and raggedness of her breath. She murmured, “Did you send it?”

Lily froze. She played for nonchalance. “Send what?”

“Whatever it is you send every year,” she explained simply, ignoring Slughorn as their professor set them their coursework task and let them get on with it.

She didn’t elaborate past that, and Lily was secretly relieved that her friend was never nosy when it mattered. She set her station up, laying out her notes and checking them once over to make sure everything was correct.

“What assignment have you chosen?” asked Marlene, sitting back in her chair and watching her friend tie up her flaming hair and bustle around their desks.  She’d already collected her ingredients, although she made no move to do anything of particular importance.

“I decided to merge the Draught of Living Dead with Altheda’s Potion,” replied Lily.

Marlene’s eyes narrowed and a small frown creased her forehead. “From Beedle the Bard? I didn’t realise that was a real potion. I always thought it was just a fairy-tale.”

Lily paused. A wry smile curled her lips and she said whimsically, “After finding out about magic, I learnt very quickly that fairy-tales are more often than not based on some semblance of truth.”

She smiled, squeezing Marlene’s fingers before she said, “I’m going to get my ingredients. Are you planning on starting any time soon?”

“Not particularly,” retorted Marlene, wrinkling her nose. “Though then again, I don’t tend to plan ahead. After six years, you should know that.”

Lily laughed, and she headed towards Slughorn’s cupboard. She made a mental checklist of everything she needed, beginning with the leftmost bottom shelf and working her way round like that, perusing each jar and vial with squinted eyes, chastising herself for not bringing her glasses and above all, cursing her Professor for the chaos of his disorganisation. She’d offered once before to put his cupboard in order for him, but Slughorn had laughed it off and said that _he_ knew where everything was and that was all that mattered. Short-sighted and with the dim light of her wand, it took her longer than usually to find all of the ingredients bar one she needed, but she did so, pooling them into a bag she had transfigured from a pencil. She stood up from where she had been crouched on the floor, extinguishing her wand. Resolutely, Lily reached for the handle but before she could, the door swung open and a hard, tall body collided with hers, sending her grappling to press her bag firm against her leg lest she lose any of her ingredients.

“You haven’t seen any Chizpurfle fangs lying about, have you- oh, Lily. Evans, hi.”

James cut himself off, neck flushed, and Lily smiled a little at his flustered state. This particular cupboard, separated from the more general one due to the increasing rarity and expense of its assets, was perhaps a metre and a half squared in area, and Lily could feel every one of his breaths against her skin.

“Chizpurfle,” she repeated suddenly, eyes raking the shelves, chewing on her lip. “No, I can’t see it. Maybe Slughorn’s used the jar and didn’t put it back?”

He nodded, and she realised that in the few moments she’d been searching for the ingredient, his eyes hadn’t moved from her face. James coughed and said, “Thanks, yeah. I’ll check.”

Arms full of various sized vials with various coloured liquids, James turned and headed for the door. Lily swallowed and queried, “Are you making a Befuddlement Draught?”

He spun around, eyebrows raised. “A Wiggenweld Potion.”

Lily wasn’t quick enough to conceal her surprise and if the quirk of James’ lip was anything to go by, he noticed. She picked off the last sloth brain on the shelf and said lightly, “It’s a difficult potion, is all. Are you feeling up to the challenge, Potter?”

The hint of a smile that had threatened to spill across his face gave way to a grin. “You’ve known me for nearly seven years, Evans. You should already know the answer to that.” He paused, as if gauging how far he could push it, before James added, “Why? Are you impressed?”

“Maybe I just didn’t have that much faith in your ability,” retorted Lily, feigning her features to stop herself from smiling. She gave him a dainty shrug.

James’ mouth dropped open. Wounded, he cried, “How very dare you! The audacity! If my hands weren’t full, I’d challenge you to a duel.”

“You’d lose,” she warned him.

“Oh, Evans,” he said in a low voice and the smile dropped from her face. “I’m not the same foolish, skinny boy I used to be.”

“No,” she conceded softly, and James’ eyes changed too. She cleared her throat. “But you still have his legs.”

With James’ rich laugh echoing through the jars and making the spider webs shake in her wake, she edged past him and walked back to her table, beaming at Remus as she passed, who offered her a gentle smile in return. Lily laid out all of her ingredients, skim-reading her instructions to double check that she had them all before she began her prep work.

“So,” began Marlene, finally unloading her equipment from her bag. “You and Potter, huh?”

Lily’s head whipped around so that she could stare incredulously first at her friend, and then at the rest of the class, just to make sure nobody had heard. “No. Never. Not in a million years. Not if we were the last two people on the planet-”

“Okay, I get it!”                 exclaimed Marlene, holding her hands up in mock surrender. Lily relaxed a little. “You dig him.”

She jumped at the insinuation and nipped her arm. “Don’t freak out over dust, Marls,” she told her, lighting her cauldron. “We’re just friends.”

Marlene scoffed. “’Just friends.’ Chick, this is the same boy that’s been in love with you for seven years.”

“Four,” Lily corrected automatically. She blushed.

“Four that you know of- my point _being_ why are you ruling something out that you’ve never even tried?”

Lily’s eyes drifted across the room almost instinctively, finding him out so easily you’d have thought she was drenched in coldness and he was the only morsel of warmth left in the world. She always found it bizarre how _easy_ James was, easy to talk to, easy-going, easy to spot in a crowd full of people (although that last one was usually because he was the reason for the accumulation of an audience so she didn’t know if it counted).

“I’m not ruling anything out, Marls,” said Lily. “I just- it’s different now. Last year, _he_ was different. And now we’re working together with all the Heads business that I can’t avoid him like I used to.” She swallowed, softening. “He treats me like a normal person. Not like a schoolboy crush, or an object, or an outsider. I respect that.”

Marlene didn’t reply, and when Lily glanced at her to check if her friend was still there, the other girl nodded slightly. She let out a whistle. “Must have been some apology.”

_“I can be better for you.”_

“I guess it was,” replied Lily vaguely, eyes straying to the boy on the other side of the classroom. He had his head ducked low over his work station, elbow tucked in as he added the ground up Chizpurfle fangs to his potion.

“What were you and Dorcas talking about this morning, anyway?” asked Lily curiously, pouring the infusion of wormwood into her cauldron and flicking her wand to increase the heat.

Marlene’s face tightened ever so slightly. To anyone else, the act would have been imperceptible, but Marlene was a character of grand gestures and melodrama, so every small motion seemed out of place on her, almost wasted. Maybe Lily had just known her for too long.

But she played it off, nonchalantly starting her potion. “Dorky has a date.”

The knife in Lily’s hand slipped and she looked at her. “A date?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” Lily pressed her lips together. “What did you say?”

“I said she shouldn’t be stringing him along if she didn’t like him,” said Marlene, flicking her blonde curls over her shoulder and fixing Lily with a look.

“What did she say?”

“She said it wasn’t fair to assume she didn’t like him.”

Lily turned back to her potion and said lightly, “Well, at least she took your advice. She’s not ruling anything out until she’s tried it.”

There was a clatter of silver as a knife was abruptly dropped on the table. Marlene regarded her shrewdly. “Get back to your bloody potion, Evans.”

The two girls stared at one another, and Lily felt the smile tug at her lips. She tried biting it back, but they both gave way to laughter at the same time, sharing a grin before they got back on with their assignments.

Lily had always liked Potions. She liked the precision, the right and wrong of it all. You couldn’t argue with a set of instructions and if you went wrong somewhere along the way, you only had yourself to blame. She preferred subjects like that, where success relied on you and nobody could argue against it.

Slughorn made his rounds half way into the lesson. He made a beeline for her, beaming fondly, and asked which potion she had picked and why.

“I’ll say it again, Miss Evans,” boomed Slughorn once she’d told him and shown him her instructions, jovial voice alight with merriment. He ducked his head low as though he were letting her in on a secret nobody else could hear. “It’s a pity you weren’t sorted into my house.”

Lily smiled despite herself. She shook her head, scooping the pieces of the Sopophorous beans into her hand and then squeezing them into her cauldron. The juice hissed and spat when it reacted with the wormwood. “Professor, you and I both know a lion’s roar cannot be confined to a dungeon.”

Slughorn chuckled. “Perhaps not, but your ambition would thrive spectacularly.”

“My ambition is not your common ambition, Professor,” she replied, pausing to count in her head the seven counter clockwise stirs she needed, adding one clockwise stir for good luck. They both followed the motion with their eyes and when the potion shimmered and had turned the right shade of pink, Lily dipped her vial into it and held it between them. It glinted in the light.

“My, I never,” he mumbled in marvel, and the light cast glistening reflections to dance across his walrus-like cheeks. “Miss Evans, you’re the first student I’ve ever taught to brew this draught so successfully in under an hour! And to complicate it too! It’s a masterpiece!”

Beaming, Slughorn moved to take her assignment off her but she moved before he could, holding it out of his reach and ignoring the blush that hurried to her face..

“My ambition is my biggest act of bravery, sir,” said Lily solemnly. “I’m clever enough to know it, and foolish enough, it seems, to continue even when this world tells me I shouldn’t.”

She flicked her wrist back and held the vial out for him to collect. Slughorn stared at her for a few moments before his lips split into a smile beneath his bulbous moustache and he burst into that booming laughter that echoed around the room, bouncing off the stone walls and eliciting more than a few surprised glances. Lily smiled at him, before she vanished her draught and cleared her work station.

“Clever indeed, Miss Evans,” agreed Slughorn, and she felt a rush of pride fill her gut.

Lily spent the rest of the lesson finishing her Transfiguration essay, which transpired as spending all her time trying to move it out of the way quick enough before Marlene spilled something on it, or her potion bubbled over because she’d done something terribly wrong. They were dismissed when the lesson ended by a harried looking Slughorn who had had to put out a total of three fires and send Frank Longbottom to the Hospital Wing for minor burns when he added moonseed (which is highly poisonous and volatile) instead of moonstone.

“You were finished before everyone else had even collected their ingredients!” laughed Marlene, linking their arms when they eventually left the classroom. “You’re a wonder, woman, you know that? The least you could do is cushion our egos by showing us you’re human and get an A like the rest of us.”

“I’ve never gotten less than an E on _any_ of my Potions, like the rest of you,” teased Lily, biting back a smile.

“Honestly,” said Marlene, throwing her hands up with all the melodrama she could summon. “I don’t know how you do it. It’s like Slughorn is in love with you.”

Lily pulled a face, prodding her friend in the ribs. “Marls, you’re disgusting.”

Marlene just grinned, unlooping their arms so she could throw hers around Lily’s shoulders to pull her close. She planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

“You know, I was just saying the exact same thing.”

The two girls paused. They spun around and their smiles dropped at the sight of Evan Rosier sauntering towards them. He was a sly boy, tall and slim, with immaculate dark hair that was always combed a certain way, and lips so shrewd it looked as though he was perpetually dissatisfied with general conversation, or perhaps it was life in general that tasted so sour to him. The green tie gleamed from his chest.

Lily’s eyes drifted just past him and her heart tightened in her chest. Snape skulked far enough away to be inconspicuous but close enough to remain affiliated. He loitered in the shadows. She quickly looked back at Rosier.

“Not the bit about McKinnon, though I do admit my stomach heaves at the sight of her,” Rosier continued. A muscle twitched in Marlene’s jaw. Her eyes rolled back into her head. If Lily hadn’t felt her entire body tense up then she would’ve laughed. His dark eyes flicked to her. “I meant the bit about Slughorn. You’re always been a bit of a teacher’s pet, Evans.”

“I’m flattered you’ve been paying such keen attention to me, Rosier,” retorted Lily. Marlene snorted. “Is there a point to all this or were you simply expressing your infatuation with me, because if that’s the case, I’m afraid I have to put you out of your misery when I tell you you’re not my type.”

Rosier let out a harsh, derisive laugh. He stalked closer. “Believe me, Evans, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole. Not even if my life depended on it.” He tiled his head in mock-consideration. “But I does _beg_ the question. If you’re so willing to offer your services to me, who else have you offered them to?”

Any amusement or fleeting sense of victory died in her. Lily willed her tongue to say something but she could only stare at him, feeling a sickening heavy dread settle. The smirk that curled Rosier’s thin lips suggested he could feel it too.

“I always did wonder why Snape was friends with you,” he said. Lily’s nose twitched. “And now Slughorn. What, are you fucking him for extra credit? Spreading your legs like the _freak_ you are-”

Something hot dribbled through her, something familiar and seething, and she stormed towards him, stopping only when their noses were inches apart, and she could feel every one of his rancid breaths fan against her cheek. Rosier’s eyes widened fractionally.

“What, Rosier? Threatened because a _Mudblood_ is showing you up, _again_ -”

“Rosier! What a pleasant surprise to see you here!”

Lily stumbled backwards at the abrupt arrival of James Potter. He strode towards them with all the time in the world on his side, like it was his castle and they were all entreating upon it. Sure enough, his usual companions were fast in his wake: Black, sauntering with his shoulders back, chin tipped daintily (or arrogantly) to the sky; Lupin, slouching, hands shoved deep in the pockets of a robe that was fraying at the edges and brushing the higher end of his calf; Pettigrew rounded the four off, scurrying along with a slight skip in his step to keep up.

“And Snivellus!” Sirius announced. “My, this _is_ a party.”

A look as black as the greasy hair on his head crossed over Snape’s face, and he sunk deeper into the shadows, eyes trained on Sirius.

James took no notice. He smiled cordially. “What are you doing, Rosier?”

Rosier’s eyes flicked to him and back. “That is none of your business, Potter,” he drawled.

“On the contrary,” replied Sirius. He made an over-elaborate display of pointing at James’ chest. “He’s Head Boy. That makes everything his business.”

“He’s right,” said Remus genially. “In case you weren’t aware, ‘everything,’ quite literally, refers to everything. What colour your socks are-”

“What you do after hours,” added Sirius, counting them off on his fingers.

“When you’re accosting people in the hallway,” finished Peter. He raised his eyebrows knowingly.

Rosier narrowed his eyes at him, then he looked back at Lily. “It’s not an ambush. It’s a chat between a concerned student and his Head Girl, right Evans?”

His stare turned expectant. Lily didn’t break eye contact with James. “Right.”

A small frown appeared between James’ eyebrows but the space smoothed over quickly after and he smiled at the pair of them. “Well, I’m glad, but as your Head Boy, I must profess my concern over your truancy for your next lesson, Rosier. I’m sure Evans can give you a note.”

“No need,” Rosier replied. He smiled tightly. “I’ll explain the situation to Binns myself.”

“Perfect.”

Rosier gave her one last glance, and Lily met his gaze head-on, before he flicked back his cloak from his legs and turned on his heel. He jerked his head at Snape, who glared at them a final time before he followed.

“How obedient,” commented Sirius. James looked at him. His friend’s black eyes didn’t leave the two retreating figures until a few moments after they had disappeared around the corner.

Lily watched them both walk away. Her heart was beating horribly fast in her chest and she knew there was heat in her cheeks and neck because her skin felt to be burning. She wasn’t scared. She’d endured this for seven years, and whilst it was always an unfortunate occurrence, she was used to it. No. Lily was angry. In fact, she was furious.

_Freak._

That word had also shattered some part of her, and she could feel the shards digging into her flesh, sending out darts of twisting pain. She didn’t know how to stop that, how to block out that word, that memory, and of _all days_ -

Anger, she could control. She whirled on her heel and marched straight up to James Potter, prodding him in his tall, solid chest.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” she fumed. She didn’t know why but the ire was hot and writhing within her, and she couldn’t bite her tongue. Adrenaline coursed through her veins.

A genuine flash of surprise crossed James’ face and he shook his head quickly. “No, Lily. I was just-”

“Just what?” she demanded. Marlene touched her wrist, muttered her name, but Lily ignored her. “I’m not some little girl. I can handle myself! I have proved for seven years that I can handle myself!”

“I never said you couldn’t,” he murmured gently.

Sirius’ eyes flicked between them both, before he said in a low and quiet voice, “Why don’t we leave our Head Boy and Head Girl in private.”

“Good idea,” agreed Peter, and his transparency meant the concern and bewilderment was streaked across his face. “I’m sure they have lots of… Head business to do.”

Marlene closed her eyes in exasperation. Remus sighed. Nevertheless, the four of them left for Transfiguration, but not before Marlene squeezed Lily’s fingers.

Lily didn’t even glance at them. She kept her eyes fixed on Potter, because she thought that if she moved, she would cry.

“I’m fed up of people acting like I shouldn’t be here, like I can’t survive in this world. I can get the grades. I can do the magic. _I belong here_. I have proved that I deserve to be here-”

“Evans,” he said, a bit more forcefully, though the hurt still managed to seep into his voice and eyes. “I don’t see why you’re biting my head off.”

Lily swallowed hard. It scraped her throat. She traced the cracks in the stone floor and the curve of her shoes and then the frills at the hem of her socks and all the while, her heart grounded itself in her chest.

“Do you even know what it feels like to be an outsider?” she asked in a strangled voice. “To not belong? You’ve always had everything, Potter. You’ve always had friends and a place in this world, and I have to fight for that! Every day of my life, I will have to fight for that and you just have it handed to you on a golden platter, just like Black, just like Rosier-!”

She noticed the way he winced a little, and her shoulders slumped, heart dropping in her chest. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, imagined stirring counter clockwise and once clockwise for good luck until all the haze had disappeared from her mind. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean-”

James got closer, reaching out hesitantly to touch her arm. When Lily didn’t move away, he held both of her shoulders, rubbing her arms.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “What’s wrong? You hardly ate anything this morning.”

Lily sighed, reaching up to press her fingers into her eyes so her vision would go fuzzy before everything would clear up sharper. She peered at him. “You watch me eat?”

James’ eyes nearly popped out of his head. He dropped his hands and stumbled, “No. I mean, yes. That sounds weird. Not every day- I just-”

Lily looked away and laughed weakly. She prodded his chest. “I was messing with you.”

He visibly relaxed, a relieved grin slipping into place. He said, “I noticed you were quiet at the Head’s meeting last night too. Do you want to talk about it?”

She swallowed thickly, eyes darting to her feet. James stared at her, before he glanced down the corridor, licking his lips nervously. Then, he took her hand and started walking.

“Where are we going?” Lily asked, walking quickly to keep up with him.

“We are going for a walk,” he told her. “To clear our heads.”

“We can’t skip class!” she stressed, digging her heals into the floor so he couldn’t drag her along. “We’re Heads! It sets a bad example!”

“It’s _McGonagall_ ,” James replied in the same tone of voice. “Minnie is a real cool cat, you know? I’ll just tell her we had Head business. She’ll understand.”

Lily frowned, slowing down a little. “She’ll know we’re lying.”

James nodded, and he adjusted his grip on her so that he could keep them moving out of the dungeons and onto the grounds. “Sometimes, Evans, it’s not about the words themselves, but the implications behind those words, you know? Yeah, she’ll know we’re lying, but she’ll also know that we wouldn’t be using such an obvious lie if it wasn’t serious.”

“It’s not serious,” protested Lily.

James relaxed his arm around her once the October air had swallowed them and they were far enough away from the castle that she couldn’t change her mind and run back. It hung loose around her shoulders so there were still fair inches of open air between them.

He sighed. “Lily,” he began. “You’re beautiful.” Her breath hitched in her throat and she really hoped he hadn’t heard it. “You know I know that. I know you know I know that… But you are quite the ugly crier. Honestly, I think maybe the Giant Squid would be a prettier crier-”

Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at him for a second, before slapping his arm repeatedly. “Why, you _chump_ -”

But she couldn’t stop the laughter from pouring from her, as James attempted to twist his body out of the way of her hits, mewling and complaining when her fists landed, catching her hand and laughing with her.

“See!” he said, waving her hand. “You have a beautiful smile.”

Lily pulled her fingers from his, shaking her head and unsuccessfully trying to bite back the smile tilting her lips. It broke out, however, blossoming like a meadow in spring, thriving in the light and heat of James Potter.

She followed him without another word as he led her further into the crisp, chilly grounds, skirting the lake and past Hagrid’s hut until they got to the Quidditch Pitch. Nobody was out here. They were all inside, basking in the warmth of log fires or working furiously in the classrooms. They skirted under the stands, the ghost of a million cheers falling deaf on their ears, steeping them in the peaceful silence of the day.

James didn’t stop. He walked away from her and laid down in the middle of the field, ignoring the way the cold seeped into his skin and made his uniform damp and freezing. He peered up at her, and patted the space next to him.

“Come on,” he said.

Lily didn’t have to be told twice. She laid down beside him, feeling acutely each blade of grass and drop of winter dew against her cheek, gazing up at the sky.

James’ finger pointed upwards suddenly. “That cloud looks like a dragon.”

A faint smile curled her lips. Sure enough, when she followed his finger, she could see the body, the curve of the wing, the stumps of the feet, the tail that dissipated into nothing.

“I suppose it does,” she agreed.

“And that one looks like a octopus riding a centaur.”

“Now, you’re just pulling them out of your arse.”

“No, no. Look,” assured James. He traced the clouds. “There’s tentacle one, tentacle two, tentacle three, tentacle-”

“It’s my sister’s birthday today.”

He fell silent immediately. Lily kept her eyes trained on the sky, trailing the tail of the dragon and wondering what the fire it breathed would look like, whether it would be the same fading white of the clouds that form its wings or if it would be the faded pink, still scattering from the break of that morning. James looked at her in surprise.

After a moment, he said, “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“No,” said Lily. “I don’t talk about her very much.”

Before James could say anything else, she continued hurriedly, “We used to play Pooh Sticks when we were younger. Oh- I don’t suppose you know what that is.” She laughed a little, tilting her head towards him and smiling brilliantly. “There is a stream at the bottom of my garden, and on a summer’s day, my sister and I used to go down the little bridge and drop sticks into the water and see which one would cross under the bridge first. I was… seven. Tuney was nine. We went to play.

“You get to pick your sticks, you see. You want to go for long ones- they cross the line first, thin enough to travel quickly but thick enough not to stray too far from the current. We were very competitive. We stood on the bridge and we dropped our sticks, shouting and screaming. I could see through the wooden cracks beneath our feet that Tuney’s stick was winning, so I tried to… make mine go faster. I acted as though I could push it along with my hand if I waved it frantically enough, screaming and yelling like a child-”

Lily broke off. James was staring at her. “I froze the entire stream, apart from my stick which skidded along the ice… First bit of magic I ever did was to win Pooh Sticks.”

She laughed and James smiled lopsidedly at her, though maybe that’s just because she was looking at him sideways.

“Naturally, my parents didn’t believe Tuney when she told them. So we kept it to ourselves- our little magical secret. I used to bloom flowers for her, Dahlias because they were her favourite, and make it snow in spring.”

“That’s advanced magic for a seven year old,” James told her.

Lily smiled at him. “Charms has always been my strong point.”

Her face hardened, became almost wistful, when she said, “I was nine when I first met Severus Snape. He held out his hand and created the same flowers I had always made for Tuney. They never got along. She would make jibes at his hair and clothes, and he would use magic to rip her new dresses. I always thought she was lying, you know. I thought she was jealous because I had a new friend and our magical secret was no longer just ours. It was only when I came to Hogwarts that I realised how cruel he could be, how malicious. My sister and I fell out a lot. We wouldn’t talk for days at a time.

“It got worse when I finally got my Hogwarts letter,” continued Lily. The story became difficult to tell, memory making her choke. Her face screwed up and she said in a small, wounded voice, “She called me a freak…”

James didn’t say anything. Lily knew he was still listening though. His body was warm and present next to hers, and every now and then, she would hear a breath escape gently from his lips. She closed her eyes and tried to inhale quietly, so he wouldn’t hear the way the air shuddered.

“Petunia moved out when she was 18. Now, she’s engaged to some hotshot in drills. I haven’t spoken to her since fifth year.”

There was a quiet between them. It settled over them like snow does in the fledgling days of winter, peacefully and comfortably, and neither one of them looked to indent it for a few moments.

Finally, James said, “Drills sounds like something that could kill you.”

Lily laughed loudly. Of all replies she had anticipated, she couldn’t say that was on the list. She looked at him. “I mean, if it has the grit and dedication, a duck could kill you, so I can’t exactly refute that.”

He looked at her, soaking in the amused smile still fading into her skin. James drew a line from each freckle to each hair in her eyebrows to every eyelash and fleck of gold in her eyes.

“We should be dancing,” he said suddenly.

Lily let out a short, surprised laugh. She tilted her head to look at him. “What?”

“Well, if it was my birthday, I’d want everyone to be dancing. It’s not a party if you’re not jiving.”

“James,” she was still smiling, looking at him with something shining in those wide eyes. James didn’t think he’d ever seen her look like that. He wanted to spin her around and make her laugh and immortalise that light in her forever.

James nimbly hopped to his feet, holding out a hand to pull her up. Lily eyed him oddly, but she took it nevertheless. She couldn’t have found him too weird, or maybe she did and it liberated her to realise she really wanted to dance with him in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, when they were both bunking off school, on her estranged sister’s birthday.

There was no music playing, but James spun her anyway, and Lily laughed. It spilled from her lips, flying off into the air around them. He kept twirling her until her hair whipped his arm with the winter wind, and her laugh was one continuous squeal.

“James!” she gasped.

He pulled her into his chest then. The world danced for her, pirouetting and spinning, and James remained the one constant thing in her vision. She clutched onto his shoulders tightly, lest she lose her balance.

Lily didn’t think about the owl carrying her sister’s letter once that day. She didn’t think about the way Petunia would see it flying towards her bedroom window and freeze, breath trapped in her throat. She didn’t think about the inevitable tower of scrunched up paper balls in her sister’s bin that his year’s unwanted letter would add to.

And she most certainly didn’t imagine Tuney opening her window with trembling hands to let the bird in, stroking its head and staring at the nickname she hadn’t been called in five year, written in thick, black strokes on the envelope. She didn’t see Petunia smoothing out the creases in the parchment, running her thumb over the seal wax, soaking up the words as she read it, then read it again, closing her eyes for a few moments, before she crossed her room and kneeled on the floor beside her bed, where she would slide out an old musical box.

The music played as soon as she opened it, but Lily wouldn’t play that song in her mind or close her eyes and see the way the ballerina danced. She would therefore miss the hundreds of other letters all written in the same hand, with the same red wax seal on the envelope, wishing her happy birthday and telling her about everything: the boys; the magic; her new friend Marlene who wore a leather jacket instead of her cloak and got detention for it. And she wouldn’t see the way Petunia caressed the letter a final time before she locked it safely in her box and carried on with her life as though she didn’t have a sister, when she did and she always would.


	6. Chapter Six- Home

** Chapter Six- Home **

 

**September 1977**

 

“You weren’t in Transfiguration yesterday,” murmured Sirius.

James kept his attention on his work, sketching with long, dragging strokes of his quill. “I didn’t feel well.”

“Neither was Evans.”

Now, he paused. His eyes flicked to the front of the room, just once, before landing on Sirius. His friend was watching him with carelessly raised eyebrows, looking entirely blasé about the whole thing. James saw the slackness of his mouth, however, curling into a little smirk, and a sparkle in his dark eyes that gave away how terribly amused he was by this fact.

“What a coincidence,” James swallowed. “She mustn’t have been feeling well either. It’s probably flu. That’s contagious.”

“Indeed,” said Sirius.

The two boys lapsed into a knowing silence. James said, “We weren’t-“

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, I know. Even if you were someone else, which you’re not, and Evans could stand being alone with you for more than five minutes, which she can’t, I wouldn’t think that of her.”

James didn’t reply. His eyes, almost absently, trailed to her. She’d shoved her flaming hair up, away from her face, and she was laughing at something that Mary had said.

Sirius had asked him once, when they were still baggy in their thirteen years, why he fancied the pants off of a ginger. It had been the middle of the night, and James had been awake because the butterflies in his stomach- heck, they weren’t even butterflies, they were stampeding elephants- fluttered more erratically than the stars he could see out the window. Sirius didn’t sleep anyway, it transpired, and the two boys whispered deep into the night. James couldn’t answer him. He didn’t know how to tell his best friend that there was something in Lily Evans’ eyes, something that made him speechless… and James Potter was never speechless. He was always on the highest speed, the highest volume, but Lily Evans made the world slow down and go so quiet all he could hear was his heart beating.

He couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment, but every time his eyes fell on her, the feeling was reinforced, and it hit him like a wave, buckling his knees and taking him out completely. She turned, and caught him, and smiled. It was a small and hesitant smile, but it shone from her lips like sunbeams.

Sirius was watching him when he blinked and looked back at his friend. “What?”

Sirius smiled knowingly, but shrugged and got on with his work. James prodded his arm. “What!”

“Nothing!”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you’re thinking it.”

Sirius burst out laughing, putting his quill back down, and regarded his friend with raised eyebrows. “If you knew what I was thinking, why did you have to ask?”

James muttered something, but turned away. The two boys worked quietly, and that smug smirk still clung to Sirius’ lips when James stopped again and said, “It was her sister’s birthday yesterday. They don’t get along because she called Lily a freak over her magic. Rosier’s comments got to her and I just- I can’t get it out of my head. She has to prove herself in _two_ worlds, Pads. She doesn’t belong in either of them, not completely. She’s not welcomed in either of them. Have you ever just been struck by your privilege? By how tough other people have it in comparison to you?”

Sirius stared at his friend and huffed. He said, “Everyone has it tough, James. My family’s Gringotts account goes back centuries, and yet here I am, disowned and penniless, ostracised from one side because I won’t conform and distrusted by the other because I still have my mother’s blood in me.

“Evans has it tough. But she’s a fucking cookie to crack. If it’s her against the world, I’m inclined to feel sorry for the world.”

James laughed at that. He glanced at the board, and picked up where he left off, copying down the notes.

Sirius didn’t let him do so for long. He leaned in, voice dropping so low James had to strain to hear it. “Speaking of tough times- tomorrow.”

He didn’t have to ask to know what Sirius was referring to. James followed his friend’s gaze, but didn’t let it linger. He didn’t have to stare for long to notice the way Remus’ shoulders sagged, as though he was constantly piggybacking his secret around with him. There were dark crescents under his eyes, and his skin was pallid and taut, stretched over his skeleton tightly as though it was two sizes too small. His hand kept slipping as he wrote, but his grip on it was so firm his knuckles were white.

“I don’t have a lesson in the afternoon so I can make sure it’s empty,” said James.

Sirius nodded. “It’s getting worse.”

“It will be stress,” said James, but he wasn’t sure.

“Exams haven’t started yet though. He doesn’t seem overworked.”

“Remus always seems overworked,” James countered, laughing slightly. “He’s either that harried he gives the rest of us second-hand stress or he’s so relaxed he could be high.”

Sirius nodded again, but he didn’t carry on working, nor did he look at anything but the grooves in the desk. “He’s sleeping less. I can count how many hours he slept last night on one hand,” he said. “I don’t know what it is, but not even his Potions are helping. I think he’s stopped taking them.”

James opened his mouth, then shut it. He wondered how he had missed that. He always checked Remus had taken his Potions and was sound asleep before he even allowed himself to consider closing his eyes. He prided himself on knowing when the people he loved began to stumble, but James looked at Sirius, at his pristine hair and dark eyes and skin flushed with life, and he remembered how he had looked on his doorstep two years ago in the rain and thunder. He’d have to pay closer attention.

“Are you sleeping?”

Sirius didn’t even falter. He grinned. “Like a baby.”

And yet, James wasn’t sure whether he could believe him. Once you’d seen the lightening, it was hard to accept the blue skies that followed.

Flitwick stood on his books at the front of the room, tapping his wand against the blackboard. “You can pack up now.” As if on cue, the bell chimed. “Oh! Before you go, homework, please! Don’t forget to give me your homework or it’s detention- yes, Mr Graham, just because you are part of my House doesn’t mean you’re off the hook!”

The two boys jumped to their feet, shoving their paper in their bags and putting the lids on their ink. James noticed Remus freeze in the corner of his eye. His body collapsed in on itself, even more so than it already had done. He quickly grabbed his homework out of his book, murmured a spell to erase his name, and scrawled Remus’ at the top. He took Sirius’ too and piled them together before he jogged to the front and handed them both in, smiling brilliantly at the teacher.

He packed the rest of his stuff away, and his eyes snagged on a certain redhead leaving the classroom. He called her name. She waited for him outside.

“How are you feeling today?”

Lily looked up at him. She reached half way up his chest. Mary was talking to Peter, who had blushed a fantastic shade of red, and Sirius and Remus stood on the other side of the corridor, grinning like the idiots they were. James ignored them.

“I feel better,” she replied, tucking her hair behind her ear. She had a fresh face today, and it glowed pale in the September sun.

He smiled at her. It felt so natural- his lips just curled up all on their own. “Good. That’s good.” He swallowed. “You ate some breakfast this morning.”

Lily laughed, and she closed her eyes, wrinkling her nose. “What have we said about watching me eat, Potter?”

“Habit,” he said, blushing. He scratched at his neck, hoisted his bag higher up his shoulder.

“Well, I have to go to class.” She turned slowly, and walked back to her friend.

“Have you got any plans for this weekend, Evans?” he asked casually.

Lily stopped, and sighed. She turned to look at him. “Potter, it was one dance. I’m not falling in love with you after one dance.”

The breath left his lips as a shaky laugh, and James offered her a courteous smile, bowing his head in defeat. He made to turn around and carry on his way to class, but something jumped in Lily’s throat, and she said, “James!” He spun on his heel, so quickly he nearly fell. She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear again. “Maybe I tripped a little.”

The smile grew across James’ face slowly and lopsidedly, and he nodded, eyes sparkling behind his glasses. He waited there, smiling at her, and Lily hesitated. She laughed a little, turning back around to carry on her way to class. She looked back though. James counted it as a victory.

**oOoOoOo**

Sirius awoke in a fitful panic.

He’d kicked off his blankets at some point; they laid in a twisted pile at the bottom of his bed. He could feel the sweat tracing his hairline, making his pyjamas stick to him, and his heart beat so hard he thought it would shatter through his ribs and wake everyone else in his dormitory.

Every time the nightmares came for him, he could be sure to wake up in a sudden. There was no slow revelation that it was all in his head, where the dream crashed around him, and reality bled into the garish shapes of his delusion. He woke quickly and painfully, like he’d been doused in freezing water. Gasping and in a seizure of fear, Sirius would shoot up in bed, gripping at the mattress, eyes flying open to find the darkness waiting for him. It was always the same.

“Bad dream?”

He jumped. From the bed to his left, he saw the slouched figure turn to him. Sirius loosened his grasp on the bed, flexing his fingers, and swung his legs on the ground. “Yeah.”

His throat was hoarse. He cleared it.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Remus chuckled. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

The two boys stared at one another in the night, Remus’s amber eyes the only thing visible outside of the glowing light of the moon. It pooled onto the floor, groping for his bed, but Remus had lifted his legs and tucked them beneath him so it wouldn’t stain his skin. Sirius cleared his throat again.

“How much sleep did you have?” he asked.

Remus shrugged, or his body moved in a way that made Sirius think it was a shrug. Maybe he was shuddering. Through the darkness, he couldn’t be sure. “About two hours. You?”

“Been out like a light since I hit the pillow, until now.”

A pause.

Remus asked in a quiet voice, “Have you been having them more frequently?”

Sirius cracked his neck. James would tell him off for it, but James was sleeping, and his body felt stiff. “No worse than usual.”

“And how bad are they usually?”

Sirius didn’t reply. He’d never told anyone about his nightmares. He told them everything else, what colour his underwear was, when he’d kissed Marlene in the broom closet on the Second Floor, even about the time his mother had trapped his ears in the oven door for playing with a Muggle girl at the park. The top of his right ear was still burnt and crippled slightly. But he had never told his friends about the inside of his head.

Glancing to his right, at the mound that was Peter in the far bed, and the mop of dark hair he knew to be James, Sirius said, “Do you want to go somewhere?”

Remus stared at him. He didn’t ask where, just nodded, and followed Sirius out of the dormitory and into the Common Room. Nobody was up at this hour, and the room was black and empty. Sirius flicked his fingers and the fire sparked in the grate.

Remus looked at him in surprise. “How did you do that?”

Sirius grinned sheepishly. “James and I have been practising non-verbal, wandless magic. Mum is the best at it. That’s about all I can do, though.”

They sat down on the floor in front of the fire, feeling it envelop them in a soothing heat that lapped at their skin and nursed their sleepy bodies. Not for the first time that night, or morning, they fell into silence. They were both tired souls, too exhausted to sleep tonight.

Remus tucked his knees under his chin. His skin was waxy in the firelight, and Sirius thought he looked more like that scared boy on their first day at Hogwarts, scarred and cowering from a world that had only ever chewed him up and spat him out.

“You should try and get some more sleep,” Sirius said. “I’m sure Madam Pomfrey has more Potions, if you’ve run out.”

Remus smiled thinly. “I don’t think that’s an option. Besides, they taste awful. Like James’ attempt at coffee.” He was quiet for a moment. “You said you wanted to go somewhere.”

The flames twisted and danced and licked the air in a starved but desperate tango, like a lover deprived of a kiss. It combatted the darkness, encircling them in an orange glow. Sirius tore his eyes away from the fire and looked at Remus. “Where do you have in mind?”

Remus hauled himself to his feet, and held out his hand. Sirius let him pull him up, and he forgot about the fire crackling in the hearth as he followed his friend. Remus led him out of the flickering Common Room, and into the darkness of the slumbering castle. Shadows pooled in their malicious parties, but for all their mystery, Sirius found them somewhat calming, enticing. They called out to him as he passed. He noticed Remus skirted the moonlight, and clung to the shadows, and wondered if that’s why he didn’t find them as terrifying as he usually did. They walked for a while, down the grand staircases, gulping down the serenity that Hogwarts seemed to exude during the quiet of the night. Sirius’ heart felt steady in his chest.

Eventually, Remus stopped outside a door. The two boys stared at it.

Sirius reached out and twisted the handle. “It’s locked.”

Remus brandished his wand, and the smile that curled his lips was wry but real. “Thank God for magic, right?”

Sirius watched him, smiling slightly. Remus tapped the handle, and the door clicked, swinging open. He stepped back and motioned for Sirius to go first. He obliged.

The room was an old classroom. There were no desks or chairs, only a large bureau pushed into the corner. It was impossibly dark, ringed by small, square windows that didn’t let much light in. Sirius couldn’t see anything discernible, but he felt Remus stand beside him, and lift his wand. He waved it once and, along the very top of the walls, an almost invisible thread of luminous bulbs appeared from thin air, winding and twisting around the ceiling, bathing the room in a soft light.

Sirius’ eyes followed the magic. His gaze fell to the floor and his breath caught in his throat.

The room was entirely covered by a miniature model of Hogwarts. Sirius noticed that the walls were folded origami, contrived from old notes pages, and he recognised the large scrawl of Remus’ handwriting stretching down over the lawns, the loopy cursive of James forming the sides of the Great Hall, the miniature square lettering of Peter angling the Greenhouse roofs, and even his own controlled calligraphy climbing up the Astronomy Tower. It wasn’t complete. There were gaps in the walls, and holes in the roof, and the courtyard was a rubble of waste paper with what looked like ancient runes smudged across the pages. It was detailed, however, with the Whomping Willow carved from an old textbook, and folded creases representing the brickwork. There was even a snowy owl perching on the Owlery.

It was only paper but it was home. Sirius let out a long breath. “It’s Hogwarts.”

Remus smiled a little. “Yes. It’s not quite finished. I’m hoping to get it done before we leave this year.”

“But when-?”

“I’ve been coming here for a while,” said Remus, “since Third Year when you found out I was-” He broke off, his smile dropped, his eyes traced his work. “I don’t sleep sometimes, when it’s bad. I feel itchy and restless all the time. And even when it’s not the Full Moon, I still find myself waking up in the night and just, staring into the darkness. I didn’t want you all to worry, especially not after you’d taken it so well. I didn’t want you to-”

Sirius swallowed and looked at the model again. There was a light sense of melancholy settling in his bones. Each wall, each brick, each page was witness to the tired and longing soul of Remus Lupin; each makeshift window and pointed roof was a result of the countless hours that he had spilled into this piece; everything about it derived from his sleepless nights and the methodical, beautiful way his mind worked. Sirius realised that whilst he could open his eyes and be wrenched from his nightmares, Remus was haunted by them even in the waking world. The moonlight wasn’t a comfort to Remus, it was just another nightmare.

“I dream of my Father,” said Sirius. It seemed right, to expose a small part of his soul after Remus had shown him his. He moved over, careful not to step on anything, and sat on the bureau in the corner. The fairy lights danced across his skin. “My Mother is there too a lot of the time. She’s the one that used to hit me if I didn’t play the part.” He pushed back his hair to reveal the crippled tips of his ears. Remus’ face didn’t change. Sirius grinned, but it was shaky. “This wasn’t the worst of it. I just haven’t covered these up or healed them so I’m reminded why I ran away. Sometimes, she would shove me in the cupboard with Kreacher, that disgusting elf, and he would starve me and spit on me about how I was a blight on the Black tapestry. I’m sure he got so giddy he pissed himself when my Mother burnt me off the tree.

“My Mother never knew when to stop. She acted out of passion, whatever she fancied in her moments of fury… I think she did love me once, but I pushed too far. I disappointed her too much. I became unrecognisable to her and she resented me because I no longer resembled the Pureblood son she once idolised.”

Sirius swallowed thickly. “My nightmares are never about that though. I close my eyes most nights and I see my Father, standing in the background, watching, or sitting at the table and reading his newspaper when my Mother sticks my hand in the scolding water. That burn didn’t heal for three months. He never gave me any cream for it.

“But you know what hurt the most?” Sirius demanded. He thought he might be close to crying but he couldn’t be sure because he was staring at Remus so the tears wouldn’t fall. “I remember my Father when I was younger. He’s always been a cold bastard but I loved him. He was kind in his own way, little things, like a book he thought I’d like on my pillow,” Sirius faltered, “and the way he used to hold my shoulder when I did something right. And then one day, it was like he just stopped caring. Mother had always been cruel, but my Father… I thought my Father would fight for me. But he gave up on me just as quickly, if not quicker, than my Mother did.”

There was a resounding silence. Even the lights swayed a little from the outburst. Hogwarts never faltered, standing firm as ever with its flimsy walls.

“My dad left when I was young,” said Remus suddenly. He was frowning at the floor.

Sirius’ head shot to him. “What?”

“He couldn’t handle it. He was the reason I was bitten. Always at the Ministry and Prophet, spewing this and that against werewolves. Eventually, Greyback had had enough…” The room was silent, almost deathly so. Sirius wished his breathing wasn’t as loud as it sounded. His heart thudded painfully. “He came one night, when I was sleeping, and I remember, after it happened, thinking of the irony that he came after my father had already checked for monsters under my bed, not realising the worst of them was standing in my wardrobe not three feet away. He bit me when I’d settled down to sleep. It was dark. There was a crescent moon, and I could see the stars through my window. I remember that night so clearly I could probably count them.

“He tried. At least, he did at first. But- this was changing every idea he’d ever had. Every poisonous anti-werewolf thing that had ever spilled from my father’s lips came rushing back tenfold at the sight of his son writhing on the floor. The night he left, I heard my mother yelling and I climbed out of bed and sat at the top of the stairs and listened. I couldn’t even hear them properly but I knew it was about my… condition. Everything was back then. My father started crying too, and there was this moment of- of silence… And then he walked to the door, but just before he left, he looked back and saw me.”

Remus blinked, and it was like he was abruptly wrenched back to the present. He frowned. “I never saw him again.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Sirius gently. His heart was beating painfully hard and he tried to school his expression into one of nonchalance, but he knew Remus would see right through him, and all of his pity and heartache would pour through, like light shining through glass.

Remus shrugged, offering him a half-hearted smile. “I didn’t think it mattered. I had a new family.”

Sirius stared at him. He thought there was something soft and smudged about his friend, and yet he had never been more real, more tangible to him. He patted the empty space next to him on the desk, and Remus stepped over his work of four tired years to sit beside him. Sirius could feel his warmth; his friend was a lighthouse, a beacon of steady light, a rope cast out into the perilous darkness of Sirius’ life, and Sirius clung to him. He thought, if he was to fall, if he was to scream and yell and never sleep again, he could count on Remus to drag him back to shore. If he started drowning, Remus would pull him up for air.

There was so much fragility to him, and Sirius had always seen his friend as one breath away from shattering, but he knew now that Remus had always been secure. He was safe, and he was strong, and as Sirius stared at the flimsy paper Hogwarts laid out at their feet, he realised that Remus was home.

 

oOoOoOo

 

**March 1972**

 

_“Are you alright?”_

_Remus jumped. He looked so small and young, huddled up under his blanket in front of the fire, and his wide eyes darted so quickly to Sirius, the latter thought he looked like an animal caught in headlights. He swallowed. Sirius heard it from across the Common Room. “Yes. I just couldn’t sleep.”_

_“Me neither.”_

_Sirius made his way down their dormitory steps to sit beside him. Remus offered him half his blanket._

_“Do you often struggle sleeping?” asked Sirius._

_Remus was quiet for a moment. “It varies.” Sirius watched the fire grow bigger in the hearth but didn’t push the matter. Remus carried on, in a quieter voice. “When I was younger, I used to be up at the crack of dawn so I could have breakfast with my father and see him off to work. He worked at the Ministry so he was quite busy.”_

_“What did he do?”_

_“Headed his own Department.”_

_Sirius didn’t fail to notice how vague the answer was but said instead, “My father was a member of the Wizengamot for a long time but he resigned when Nobby Leach became Minister of Magic. He didn’t agree with his politics.”_

_Remus snorted at the name, surprising Sirius once again. He found that Remus Lupin was full of surprises. “What were his politics?”_

_“Humane,” replied Sirius. He frowned. “Leach was the first Muggle Born Minister of Magic.”_

_“Oh. I see.”_

_Sirius pursed his lips._

_“Does it ever sicken you?”_

_The question came out of nowhere. Sirius shot to look at him. “What do you mean?”_

_Though his eyes never strayed from the fire, Remus mused aloud, “How some people don’t change. Even though the world is moving on, some people’s ideas remain fixed in the past.”_

_“I don’t know how,” admitted Sirius bitterly. He remembered the looks from his father when mentioned a Muggle friend he’d made at the park, and the beatings his mother would give him when he dared to interrupt her fascist rants. The bruises stayed for weeks. He swallowed. “But yes, it sickens me. That’s why I couldn’t be in Slytherin. It would mean swallowing everything I’ve fought to avoid.”_

_Remus smirked a little and echoed, “The first Black to be sorted into Gryffindor.”_

_Sirius’ heart leapt and even though the red tie and crest had gleamed from his chest for the past seven months, the fact still filled him with raging butterflies and a pride so powerful it made him giddy._

_“I think it’s because this new world threatens them. The Elite, I mean,” said Remus suddenly. “They rely on being superior in order to get along and as soon as anything threatens to topple them, they go into defence mode. It’s like a pawn taking on the king in chess. It’s unheard of, but it’s possible. My mother always used to say ‘A cat may look at a king, but a pawn can checkmate him.’” His cheeks flushed and he backtracked a little. “I don’t know where she got it from but she was bloody lethal with a chess board.”_

_Sirius huffed a laugh but he couldn’t smile. “Why are they so obsessed with it though? The idea that blood is pure and that it decides for you what you can and can’t be in this world is ridiculous-”_

_“It’s archaic,” Remus agreed._

_“-and the fact that they- that they let it consume them and make them violent and angry and evil. Why do they get to sentence people to unhappy lives simply because they think they’re lesser beings? And why do they have to hurt the people with enough decency to stand up for them? What gives them the right? What makes them think it’s right-!?”_

_“Fear makes people do terrible things, Sirius,” Remus said._

_Sirius looked at him but Remus continued to stare at the fire, and the flames were doused in his golden eyes. He had only known the boy for seven months but there was something so calm and unwavering about Remus. He was like a lighthouse in a storm. If he was ever lost, Sirius knew he would always find Remus waiting for him in the place he needed to be._

_“What about love?” whispered Sirius. He didn’t know why the question seemed important to him but it did._

_Remus finally looked at him. He smiled a bit, but it faded quickly. Even so, Sirius clung to the beacon that was Remus, more aware than ever of the scars keeping them both awake, as if the early firelight illuminated them. “Love is a weird one. It makes you or breaks you, I think. My mother always tells me that’s how we’re defined, not by what we do or don’t do for ourselves, but what we do or don’t do for love.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Welp, I made myself fall even more in love with these people than I already was. If you’ve read The Light, you’ll recognise some bits of this chapter. Gosh, I love them all. They’re so real to me when I write them, and read about them. I hope you all like this chapter- it’s taken me a while to get on and write it because I didn’t know where this story was headed. It’s quite late here now, so good night. 
> 
> (I really hope you like this chapter. I’m rather fond of it because I’ve had the part about Remus’ father written for months. It’s a personal headcanon of mine, and I think it explains a lot about him).
> 
> If there are any headcanons or bits of canon that you'd quite like to see, please message me or comment!! This fanfic is really to tell the story of the Marauders, and I'd love to hear what parts you think are important within that story, and what parts I should include to do them justice. Thank you my lovelies!


	7. Chapter Seven- There's Something about Mary

** Chapter Seven- There’s Something About Mary **

****

**September 1977**

When dawn broke through the cracks in the woodwork, lighting the shack on fire, engulfing it in a brilliant amber mist, Peter could almost forget the darkness that had existed only moments before.

He never slept when it was the Full Moon. Normally, he was out like a switch the moment night fell and his head hit the pillow, but the nights when his friends needed him, when Remus needed him, were better spent wide awake. The day before was always tense, and he woke up a little more alert than usual. He woke up even earlier than James, ever the early bird: he made his bed, folding the corners neatly under his pillow; had a hot shower to warm his blood; dressed; sorted his bag for the school day, and slipped out of the dormitory before anyone else so much as stirred. Sometimes, Remus’ bed would be empty but Peter didn’t know where he went when the wolf inside of him wouldn’t lie still. He never asked.

He wasn’t one for crowds of people. They made him nervous and his eye would twitch. The quietness of the Common Room was therefore a relief, and he made sure he tip-toed to the big armchair by the window so the floor wouldn’t creak. Peter liked to sit there on these mornings and read and watch as the sun crept across the grounds, untucking the grass from its lake bed blanket of darkness, and staring at the simplicity with which the light shone. He wondered how it would feel to exist without a care in the world, devoid of that sickening fear that everything would go black the next second.

“Bit early for you, isn’t it?”

Peter swung round. Mary MacDonald stood by the stairs to the Girls’ Dormitories, in a long nightgown that brushed her shins. Her thick Scottish accent tripped over her tongue. Peter blushed.

“I’m sorry I startled you.”

“It’s fine,” said Peter. “And I’m not usually up at this time.”

“I know,” said Mary, wandering over to him. “I would’ve guessed you weren’t a morning person from the way you run to breakfast five minutes before the bell.”

She stopped in front of him. Peter stared at her and swallowed. Mary smiled, and motioned for him to move up so she could perch on the arm of the chair. She tucked her knees up under her chin.

Peter got nervous around a lot of people. Teachers were obvious- apart from History of Magic, he knew he was scraping by in all of his subjects and he tried to avoid his professors as best he could. The younger students were either too frightened or too cocksure to be of any real benefit to him. Girls were a definite no-go. Girls moved in packs, tightly knitted together so you had no choice but to blend into the shadows if a group of them walked towards you. It was more a practicality than anything else.

But Peter was also acutely aware that he was not like his friends. He didn’t possess Remus’ natural intelligence, nor his uncanny ability to read something once and then recite entire paragraphs from books that had caught his attention. He didn’t have James’ easy charisma, that warm grin that put everyone at ease and made them swell with a determination to be his friend. Peter most certainly didn’t have Sirius’ charm or good looks. He couldn’t smooth talk his way in or out of situations, and ended up stuttering through his sentence and spitting on whatever poor girl he fancied before she could hazard a guess at his point.

Peter was a round boy, a trifle fat, with thick legs and arms and a good foot shorter than Remus, who was the tallest of them all. He had small brown eyes, thin eyelashes and lips and red cheeks that quivered anxiously when James wasn’t making him laugh. He knew he wasn’t the type of boy girls fell in love with.

That fact didn’t stop his heart speeding up when he saw Mary MacDonald.

Mary was short and bouncy. She had dark skin and dark eyes and dark hair that curled in tight corkscrew ringlets and sparked off with her magic when she got excited. Her hands were small and she wore bright nail varnish and weird rings that got stuck on her knuckles, but she had a hard punch and a toothy grin that could make roses grow from glaciers. It was her smile that made Peter blush for seven years every time she entered a room. She had a loud and raucous laugh that always started with a squeal, and reading glasses, about six different pairs, some love-heart framed ones and big square ones and wire framed aviators and circular ones that slipped from her nose when she snorted. She had big lips and small ears and gleaming sharp teeth that had held Muggle braces for the past nine months. Mary Macdonald exhaled all the joy and bliss of living voraciously, the flowers of spring and summer weaved into her hair as she laughed.

He had taken to her in his first lesson of History of Magic when she sat next to him and proceeded to argue about the rights of the Gargoyles of Notre Dame following the Strike in 1911. He didn’t get a word in edgewise to disagree with her, but she finished her tirade with a rush of air and a giggle and offered him her toothy smile, name and hand. Peter had been hooked ever since.

“What’s different about today?”

Peter looked out the window. It was cold, but his hands were sweating.

“Or don’t tell me,” continued Mary. “If it’s a secret.”

“It’s not a secret,” said Peter quickly, eyes darting to her. “I just- it’s-“

“Okay,” laughed Mary. “Have you done Binns’ essay?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

“But then I spilled ink over it and I forgot the counter-charm,” finished Peter.

Mary looked at him, then threw her head back and laughed. “You haven’t changed since First Year, Peter!”

He laughed a little, then stopped and wheezed. They fell into silence.

“Why d’you breathe so heavy?” she asked all of a sudden.

“I’m asthmatic.”

They shared a quick look, then they both burst out laughing. Peter felt the sun creep through the window and warm him through, or maybe it was Mary that made him feel alive and awake.

“What’re you reading?” she asked.

“A book.”

Mary laughed, nudging his shoulder with hers. “I can see that, airhead. What book?” He flipped the book over so she could read the cover. “ _’Le Morte d’Arthur.’_ Is it any good?”

Peter nodded. “You can borrow it, if you want.”

“What’s it about?”

Peter shifted to sit straighter. He said, “James bought it me. It’s about King Arthur. He’s British legend. There’s a lot to it: he had a table of Knights, including Lancelot, and Guinevere as his Queen, and then there’s dragons and magic and Merlin-” he broke off sheepishly. “I don’t want to spoil it for you if you read it.”

Mary smiled. “As soon as you’re done, send it my way! Then we can gush about Arthur and dragons and Merlin together.”

They’d sat there for a while, until morning doused the other students in consciousness and their serenity was disrupted, and then Mary had gone to get dressed, and Peter had waited a little longer by the window until James came down and got him.

**oOoOoOo**

Now, the shack was quiet. Padfoot was curled up in a corner of the room, on a dusty armchair that had big gashes down the pillows, oozing stuffing. Prongs had settled down by the doorway. Remus was laying behind the settee, head lolling to the side, dirt and grime clinging to his body like a second skin. He was probably naked, but James had hidden a pile of spare clothes in the bathroom for him when he woke up. Peter had woken up and transformed out of his Animagus form immediately.

He didn’t mind being a rat; he’d hated the idea at first, but the knowledge that he was needed to press the knot at the base of the Willow made him grudgingly accept it. Now, he quite liked it. He liked being able to squeeze into places no one else could, and the way his feet (which refused to coordinate together when he was human) would scurry over the grass so quickly and nimbly he felt like he was flying. Even so, he sat on the armchair, watching the sun rise. He wondered if Mary was sitting in the Common Room watching it too.

Peter heard a sigh, and he glanced over to see Remus raising his head. He blearily looked around. When he looked at him, Peter smiled. “Morning.”

Remus gripped the back of the settee and hauled himself to his feet. He grimaced a little from the pain, but Peter noticed that there were no cuts on him this time. It had been a tame night, as smooth as he would dare to label it. They didn’t always go so easily. Remus gingerly moved towards the door, but stopped when he saw Prongs. He swore under his breath.

“Wake him up,” said Peter.

Remus pressed his lips together. He knelt down and stroked the deer’s head. “James, if you could be a dear and move out of the way so I can put some clothes on, I would very much appreciate it.”

Peter snorted, and grinned as the deer pressed itself into Remus’ hand. It blinked its large eyes open, and kicked out its legs in surprise, startling itself back into James.

“Merlin,” he gasped. Remus smirked wryly and left the room.

James stretched out his legs, leaning back against the wall. His shirt was creased and rumpled and his trousers ended half way up his leg. He yawned loudly. The sound was enough to wake the dog in the corner of the room, and Sirius lifted his head and surveyed them. The dog’s eyes lingered on the place Remus had slept, where the settee was still pushed away from the wall. He didn’t bother changing back, but clambered to his feet, stretched his legs, and padded over to where James was sat, curling up into his side.

James scratched Padfoot’s ears, then rested his arms around the dog’s shaggy neck. “Hello. Didn’t eat any mice last night, did you?”

Padfoot huffed and pawed at his chest, licking his face. James recoiled. “Sirius! I swear- if I find out you ate a mouse and you just licked me, I will starve you!”

But the dog paid this threat no heed, and settled down beside his best friend. His head rested on his paws but he watched the door with keen eyes.

Peter said, “It still makes me uncomfortable when I think about that.”

“He wouldn’t eat you,” said James. But he paused. “I don’t think, anyway.”

Padfoot swished his tail.

Sirius was the most comfortable with his form. If Peter had to hazard a guess, he’d say there was something about the freedom being a dog gave him. Sirius didn’t like to feel trapped; he needed the rush of wind in his hair (or fur) and the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He needed to be reminded that he was alive, and that life was worth living.

Remus returned, fully dressed, and Padfoot perked up, moving to meet him. Remus laughed a little, but it must have pained him, for he winced soon after. He stroked the dog’s head with his long fingers, massaging his scalp.

“I wasn’t too bad last night, was I?” he asked.

He didn’t look at anyone when he spoke. Padfoot pressed himself closer against Remus’ legs.

James said, “No, it was uneventful.”

Peter said, “You went in the lake, played a bit with Padfoot, then came back here.”

Remus nodded. His shoulders sagged. “Good.”

The shack wasn’t as unwelcoming and discerning as what it once had been. Peter remembered the first time he had stepped foot in the place; the floorboards creaked and groaned underfoot and the doors hung from their hinges. He’d started to count the cobwebs but gave up when he saw something that looked suspiciously big for a spider scuttle into a dark crevice. The Shrieking Shack left him with a bitter taste in his mouth and he never looked forward to the Full Moon, but he looked forward to it less at the knowledge he would have to spend a night in that house. He persisted though: Peter knew why it was so important that they did what they did. He wasn’t sure whether Remus would be able to cope with Moony on his own. The shack had become a haven to them, a dilapidated, moaning safe house that they could always count on to keep their secrets.

Except for that one time it didn’t.

They always seemed to gravitate to this room in particular. There was a large, three-seater salmon settee pushed against the far side of the wall, and a shelf that clung fervently above it with one or two books and dead, black plants. By the window, Peter sat in the ripped armchair, shifting to avoid the springs. The room curved round to the left, forming an L shape, and the foot of the L contained a grand piano that was surprisingly well-kept, all things considered, and another chair that Sirius tended to occupy. The windows had been boarded up, but somehow, the straining sunlight still slipped through.

“I heard you were chatting to Mary this morning. Or yesterday morning, even,” said James. Padfoot made a noise. James flicked his ear. “Don’t be rude.” He looked back at Pete and waggled his eyebrows. “What’s that all about?”

Peter felt the blush creep up his neck and ears, defusing into his cheeks. “Nothing really. We were the only ones up. It wasn’t like she was spoilt for company.”

“Peter, any girl would be lucky to hold your company,” said Remus. He’d moved over to sit on the settee. It was too low down for him, and his gangly legs were bent at a funny angle so his knees very nearly kissed his chin.

Pete scratched his head. “Thanks. I mean, it’s nothing really. We hardly spoke.”

“How long have you fancied her?” James asked. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. He always left them in the dormitory for these nights, so his eyes were big and hazel and he kept blinking.

“It’s a bit hypocritical if we go there, isn’t it?”

Remus huffed a laugh, glancing at James. “He’s got you there.”

James shook his head, but Padfoot snickered in a way uncommonly human-like. James tapped him on the nose, and the dog growled. “Don’t laugh at me.”

The dog tossed his head away.

“I just mean, don’t you think it’s high-time you tell her?” continued James. “Or at least say more than three words to her!”

“I have said more than-“

“The Goblin Revolution doesn’t count.”

Peter shut his mouth. He swallowed thickly. His eyes followed a little ray of light that had escaped onto his skin. “I don’t think she’d be interested anyway.”

“Why not? She’d be mad not to be.”

Peter shrugged.

“Peter,” said Remus. He spoke in such a way that commanded you look at him, like the unspoken audacity of a meteor shower that forced you to stare at a dark sky if only for one glimpse of a shooting star. “Any girl would be lucky to have you. Stop thinking you’re a burden. You have a lot to offer.”

Peter stared at him, and he nodded a bit unevenly, before he looked down at his feet. The room was quiet. Their bones were tired and it made trivial conversation an effort.

James yawned again and he stopped stroking Padfoot to cover his mouth. The dog pushed his wet nose into his hand. James continued obediently. “I sure am glad it’s the weekend.”

“What do you think about Hogsmeade later? D’you fancy it?” asked Peter.

James pulled a face. “I don’t know. Remus, will you play us something?”

Padfoot lifted his head.

“Is it not a bit early?”

Peter shook his head. “Sun’s up.”

Remus smiled a little, half-smile at that. He got to his feet, and his body looked heavy as he moved over to the grand piano, running his hand along the top of it as he sat down.

Remus lifted the lid.

“Any requests?”

“Something beautiful,” said James.

He cracked his fingers, dusted the keys, before he started playing. He had pianist fingers, long and spindly, and he closed his eyes when he played, reciting the movements from memory, his shoulders swaying with the force of the music. They couldn’t always get him to play; Sirius had discovered he could by pure coincidence, and had tried to persuade him to play more often. Remus was usually too tired. When he agreed, however, it warmed the shack like the sun outside, drenching them all in something both melancholy and bright. James closed his eyes too and leaned his head against the wall. Padfoot watched. Peter stared at the sunlight.

 

oOoOoOo

 

**December 1975**

_The castle grounds were dark. It was early morning but you wouldn’t be able to tell from the sky as no light could be seen, cracking the horizon open to make way for the new day. Winter meant that morning started later. It also meant that there were more shadows to hide in and the ground was stiff and difficult to navigate. A biting wind snaked through the undergrowth, making the grass rattle, occasionally whipping up to lash out at tree trunks and the towering castle walls._

_The first figure appeared quite abruptly. It was a small thing, scurrying about, no larger than the overgrown grass it raced through. The rat poked its head out of a hole in the earth, nosed the air, seemed to check left and right, before scurrying back to whence it came. It appeared once again a few seconds later, daring to go much further out before it turned into a plump boy. He sat in the grass and waited._

_The second figure to break the night was actually a clump of three figures, joined together by limbs and hips and gangly legs. They appeared from the same hole the rat came from separately and then re-joined, heaving their way up the hill. The boy-that-waited shot to attention and led the way._

_They ventured onto the path for easier footing, choosing to risk detection rather than skirting round the shadows. The middle of the three boys was the slowest and had the smallest gait, despite being tallest vertically, limping up the pathway. The other two must have been supporting him. It was doubtful he could do it alone._

_It took them a long while to reach the castle doors but when they did, the patient boy retrieved what looked like a stick to tap the lock, and they waited only a few seconds for a crack in the door which they slipped through silently. Inside, the labyrinth intensified. They set off to the right. They needed to be on the opposite side of the castle, upstairs, in one of the highest towers, but Filch was patrolling and they’d memorised his schedule. The figures had prepared and prepared well._

_They had been preparing this night for years._

_Inside, they stuck to the shadows, skirting round the glowing silver of the waning moon. The clouds had since come out, drifting across the sky, wary that the sun was imminent on the daybreak. The boys were wary too and they moved faster than before, all but carrying the slowest of them, dragging him silently along. Their route was much longer and laborious than what it needed to be, and they reached the dungeons before they doubled back and took the farthest staircase away from the Entrance Hall, turning left when they reached the first floor instead of carrying on going up. They paced the length of the first floor until they made it to the staircase on the opposite side of the castle, hauling their tired bodies up a floor before repeating their movements along the second floor to get back to the first set of steps they’d deviated from. This continued, they weaved in and along and up the floors, until they reached the seventh floor, where they could move a bit faster, sound in their knowledge that they had outmanoeuvred the caretaker. They were cautious to be careful, however. It would not do for their complacency to trip them up only metres away from their destination._

_The boys near ran when they caught sight of the Portrait Hole, and they were too consumed in their glee to notice the indignation of the Fat Lady when they roused her from her sleep with their utterance of the password. Collapsing into the Common Room, they didn’t give themselves the time to stop, hurrying straight to their dormitory._

_Their bodies ached from the night they had endured and the mission to get back afterwards. Still, they were too enraptured in their euphoria that, after years of planning, it had paid off. Moony would no longer have to be alone in his midnight venturing. Remus would not have to suffer in solitude anymore. He had his friends to sneak into the dark and light the way for him._

_The door clicked shut behind them. Sirius collapsed onto his bed. Peter ran to the toilet. Remus faltered a little bit from all of the energy he’d spent in the last twelve hours. James took a deep breath. He turned to the others and said incredulously, “We need a map.”_

 

 

**AN: Ok the asthmatic line between Mary and Peter was an actual conversation between me and my friend in the taxi to our lesson today. I couldn’t stop laughing. I found it so awkward that I put it into the scene.**

**You know, it’s bizarre because I was sitting in class thinking about continuing writing this chapter and my first thought was I can’t wait to escape back to Hogwarts. It didn’t strike me that this world wasn’t real and these characters aren’t breathing people. They’re real to me and it was such a weird experience to think about that first and the fact that they are my (at least in this fanfic) construction second.**

**Anyway, this chapter is a little different as you can probably tell because I wrote it in Peter’s POV. This fanfic is the MARAUDERS’ story, and he is a Marauder, and so I’m going to cover all of the characters that are integral to telling this story (or my version of it, at least). Also, I wasn’t sure whether they had clothes when they turned back into humans from their Animagus forms but for the sake of this fanfic, and the agreement with the films at least, we’ll go with it.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Ok the asthmatic line between Mary and Peter was an actual conversation between me and my friend in the taxi to our lesson today. I couldn’t stop laughing. I found it so awkward that I put it into the scene.
> 
> You know, it’s bizarre because I was sitting in class thinking about continuing writing this chapter and my first thought was I can’t wait to escape back to Hogwarts. It didn’t strike me that this world wasn’t real and these characters aren’t breathing people. They’re real to me and it was such a weird experience to think about that first and the fact that they are my (at least in this fanfic) construction second.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a little different as you can probably tell because I wrote it in Peter’s POV. This fanfic is the MARAUDERS’ story, and he is a Marauder, and so I’m going to cover all of the characters that are integral to telling this story (or my version of it, at least). Also, I wasn’t sure whether they had clothes when they turned back into humans from their Animagus forms but for the sake of this fanfic, and the agreement with the films at least, we’ll go with it.


	8. Chapter 8- Dogs and Frogs and Wolves, oh my!

** Chapter 8- Dogs and Frogs and Wolves, oh my! **

It was daylight when they emerged from the hole beneath the Whomping Willow, with the orange sun creeping up the grass, lighting the grounds in wondrous autumn fire. James could feel it on his skin, even through the invisibility cloak. It warmed him through and he stopped a minute to cherish it.

For their first few Full Moons, they’d always made sure to escape the shack when it was still dark. The shadows were their cover, their fifth man watching their backs to make sure they weren’t discovered. It was too difficult to manoeuvre all four of them under the cloak when they had to traipse laboriously through the entire castle to make it back to the Common Room.

The Map helped with that.

It was an intricate thing, a spread of crinkled browning parchment that James could lay over both his knees and the sides would still spill onto the floor. But it was Hogwarts. Down to the T. Every corridor in the castle, every hidden room and secret passageway marked out in magic ink for their eyes, and their eyes only. It was the love child of a lot of hard work and magic that James had never even heard of before, never mind thought feasible. They proved a good team, however: Remus was the brain, reading book after book, directing them to what they needed to be looking for (between the four of them, they must have scoured every book in the library that so much as hinted at Charms work); Sirius and James were the map-layers, the explorers, the ones that set themselves the challenge of finding a different way to class every morning (sometimes, they’d sneak out after curfew under the cloak and just walk and see where they would end up. The following morning would always be hell for James, despite him being a morning person, but he didn’t fail to notice the thrill in his friend’s dark eyes, and the quiet in his insomniac rioting: Sirius never slept, but putting his mind to something important in those sleepless hours with James at his side meant that he didn’t lie awake, dwelling on idle and dangerous ideas.); Peter was mainly moral support. He brought them food and picked them up when it seemed an impossible feat. James knew that, without Peter, they’d be stuck in one of the hidden rooms with only a quarter of a map.

The Marauders Map, as they fondly christened it, helped them a great deal. Not only was it useful in avoiding teachers and Filch, and getting to class early when they otherwise would have rocked up late, and sneaking into Hogsmeade for a quick fix of Butterbeer, it meant they could get Remus back to their dormitory after the Full Moon quickly.

For the Map, whilst it showed rooms and passageways, also showed people. That was a small stroke of brilliance James attributed to himself.

_They’d tried to access the Restricted Section to see if it had anything useful to contribute to the matter, and had almost been caught after hours by Filch. He and Sirius had run faster than they’d ever run before, not stopping until they were safe in their dormitory._

_James had his back to the door, barricading it just in case the grumpy caretaker had followed them. “Buggery to secret corridors,” he’d panted, grimacing at the stitch in his side. “What we really need is a bloody tracker on Filch!”_

_“Whilst we’re at it,” added Sirius. “Might as well stick one on Minnie too.”_

_The two boys had regarded one another for a moment, and then the lightbulb had clicked and their search intensified._

Since they could get back to the Common Room quicker, and with less anxiety, James brought in his cloak. He draped it over himself and Remus, holding the boy by the waist and staying as close to him as he could to make sure they both fit without being decapitated legs. Peter remained in his rat form just because it was easier. Sirius cast a disillusionment charm, only for safe keeping. He needn’t have bothered. They had the Map and the Map was never wrong.

The four boys (well, three boys and rat) made their way up to the castle, and slipped through the slit in the door. There was a quiet hum from the Great Hall, a few early risers had gathered. It was a Saturday and the majority of students were still tucked up in the safe warmth of their beds. They knew the route like the back of their hand, and stopped as usual at the tapestry of the Goblin Rebellion, just before the descent into the dungeons. The rat checked left and right out of habit more than anything else, and James, map in hand, only waited so that Peter would feel a sense of satisfaction at having helped out. When Pete had decided the coast was clear, the four of them slipped behind the cloth and into the secret passageway. It was a man-sized hole in the wall, shaped like a doorway, though you wouldn’t be able to see it if you just peered behind the tapestry; it was one of those places you had to know existed to properly notice.

James remembered, as they walked on, only partly aware of the slight hill that reassured them they were heading higher and deeper into the castle, the day they found the passageway. This one was totally accidental.

_He and Sirius has been running from Filch. Again. It was at the start of their Sixth Year, when they’d set a Niffler loose in the Slytherin Common Room and whilst they’d gotten detention for it later (according to their Head of House, their plan to rob the rich to provide for the poor was “senseless and imbecilic”, despite Sirius’ eloquent defence that “those pureblood tossers have more than what they can feasibly spend, Professor. Really, we’re doing them a favour.”), they managed to evade Filch. They’d been running hell for leather, pelting down corridor after corridor, when James tripped over his own feet, hurtling into his friend. The two boys had gone flying, grappling onto whatever purchase they could find, desperately praying they wouldn’t get caught-_

_They’d fallen through the tapestry._

_It had taken them a while to register the fact. They sat there for a moment, dumbfounded and heavily breathing, not daring to move when they heard the grisly caretaker screech to a stop and mutter under his breath about horrible kids. James had been certain he was going to see their feet under the fabric but soon enough, they heard the tapping and short pants as Filch continued running. They stayed there to be safe for a few minutes after they could no longer hear him._

_Then, Sirius had breathed out a long sigh of relief and said, “Well that was a close one, wasn’t it?”_

_But James had been too caught up in the passageway. The walls were the same brick as the walls of the corridor and fire in metal brackets had sparked into life. The passageway itself was no wider than a cupboard, perhaps, and James couldn’t see where it led to, if it led to anywhere at all._

_“Hogwarts has a secret passageway?” he wondered aloud. They’d found a few rooms so far for the Map, but a bloody big passageway cutting right through the school?_

_Sirius looked around too. “Not secret anymore.”_

_“We’ve been at this school for five whole years,” he said. “How have we not found this before?”_

_Sirius shrugged. “Maybe Hogwarts wasn’t willing to show us her secrets until now.”_

_“If this exists, there must be more,” said James. “Imagine it. Hogwarts crawling with secret rooms and corridors that nobody has ever stumbled upon-“_

_“Until now,” grinned Sirius._

_James couldn’t help it. His lips split into a wide, lopsided grin and he shoved his glasses up his nose. His eyes lit up and he darted to his feet, starting down the secret passageway._

_“Where are you going?” demanded Sirius._

_“I want to see where it leads,” James called over his shoulder. His heart was beating with the thrill of adventure. He heard Sirius scramble after him and could almost hear his heart on the air too. “And then, I’m adding it to the Map!”_

Since that day, it had been their usual route through the school on the mornings after a Full Moon. The staircases were too steep for Remus’ weary body and too exposed that they risked running into Filch or, worse, Peeves. As it turned out, it led to the seventh floor, though the incline was so gentle it didn’t feel like you were ascending any floors at all. James didn’t think too much about it. Magic. Plus, Hogwarts had a knack of surprising him.

They reached the top and the flames doused themselves immediately. Peter and Sirius reappeared and the former peered out from behind the tapestry of the dancing trolls. When he escaped onto the corridor, James adjusted his grip on Remus and set off again. It was easier to keep Remus hidden, just in case they couldn’t explain his state. The Full Moon wasn’t kind to him. They couldn’t have him blowing his cover.

They poured into the empty Common Room, finally breathing freely, but didn’t stop until they’d climbed the last set of stairs to make it to their dormitory. James whipped the cloak off, but he kept hold of Remus and laid him down on his bed gingerly before going to change. He was sweating and his clothes were dirty. His body ached and his legs and arms felt like they’d been unscrewed from his joints and then put back on too tightly but he didn’t complain and he didn’t show his pain because Remus looked worse, changing into fresh clothes just as the sun climbed their tower and broke through the slit in the curtain.

“I’m whacked,” said Peter, collapsing onto his bed and flinging an arm over his eyes. He spoke too loudly for the morning. James saw Remus wince.

“Don’t fancy Hogsmeade then, Pete?” asked Sirius. He sat down on his bed and began unlacing his dragonhide boots.

Peter perked up. “I didn’t say that.”

James hushed him. Bashfully, Peter’s eyes blushed red and he put a finger to his lips. Sirius grinned.

James looked over at Remus, who had closed his eyes, stretched stock-still over the covers. He hadn’t moved an inch since James had laid him down. He asked softly, “What do you say, Moony? Do you fancy it?”

Remus’ face didn’t change. He looked peaceful but exhausted, and the greyness of his skin was stark against his flushed cheeks. “I’m not sure. You can go without me, if you’d like.”

Sirius threw his boots into his trunk. “Don’t be silly, Remus. You could do with a Butterbeer. Or a Firewhiskey, come to think of it. That’ll wake you up.”

“Sirius might be right,” said James in a gentler voice, looking at his friend. “You’ll only get stiffer if you stay here all day. You need to stretch your legs and walk it off. I’ll get you your Potions from Pomfrey and-“

“I’m fine,” said Remus, sitting up. He didn’t look fine. He winced every time he moved.

James clenched his jaw. “Are you sure? I don’t mind. It’s not like it’s a problem-“

“I said I’m fine!” he snapped.

James closed his mouth. “Ok. Good.”

Peter glanced cautiously between the two of them. James smiled at him.

“You know,” said Sirius, sprawling back onto his pillow. “I wonder if they have the new broom in yet. D’you reckon they’ll sell it in Dervish and Banges?”

“It’s highly unlikely. Dervish and Banges sells magical instruments, Sirius,” said Remus, heaving himself to his feet.

“Arguably, a broomstick is a magical instrument, Remus,” Sirius replied sagely.

Remus just frowned at him, but neglected to comment, walking past them all and into the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him.

The shower started.

There was a quiet in the dormitory that Sirius wasn’t aware of. “Oh! They might have it at Spintwitches!”

Peter looked at James. “Is Remus okay?”

James plastered on a smile and shook his head a little. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he be? You know what he’s like the morning after. He’s just tired.”

“Why didn’t I think of Spintwitches?” Sirius slapped his forehead.

“It was closed last year, Pads,” James told him. “Mr Spint went bankrupt and had to sell his lucky golden dragon egg for collateral.”

Peter looked unsurely at the bathroom door. He lowered his voice. “Usually, the-“ he whispered, “- _wolf_ -“ then resumed normal volume, “-is out of his system by now though. He seems on edge still.”

“Peter, I’m sure he’s fine,” said James, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s never a pleasant time for him.”

“How do you know that?” Sirius demanded.

“His brother’s second wife is my father’s secretary,” said James.

“Ah, makes sense,” said Sirius. “Poor bloke. I love Spintwitches. Sells quality broom wax.”

“You forgot it existed a moment ago,” said Peter.

Sirius pointed a finger at him. “You leave James’ father’s secretary’s husband’s brother and I alone!”

The shower stopped.

Remus appeared from the bathroom. If possible, he looked more washed out than he had done before, blending into the white towel wrapped around his body.

“Is there anything you’d like to buy, Remus-?” Peter got half way through his question before a bang at the window interrupted him.

James and Sirius shared a look. He moved to pull the curtains back, opening the window, and a large owl tumbled into the room. James’ eyes widened and he nearly wasn’t quick enough as the bird flew towards his head, screeching and colliding with the dresser behind him, claws scraping the wood in a failed attempt to find purchase. It headed over to Remus, who slammed the bathroom door, and then, swerving, narrowly missed Peter before the owl dived into Sirius, who yelped and threw himself out of the way so the bird could crash-land on his pillow. It kicked out blindly, head tangled in the sheets.

“Bloody bird,” muttered James, quickly righting it and the owl stood happily, the rolled up newspaper still in its beak.

“Honestly, James, I don’t know why you don’t just retire him and get a new one, a more efficient one, perhaps,” said Remus, emerging from the bathroom once more after peeping out to check whether it was safe.

James took the Prophet from the owl and offered his finger for the bird to nibble. “My dad has a soft spot for him. Merlin was my granny’s. For all his shortcomings, he seems to be invincible. Doesn’t matter that he takes four weeks to get here, at least you can count on him surviving the journey.”

“You could say that for Sirius,” said Remus. “It’s no achievement.”

“Oh, he doesn’t talk about me with the same amount of fondness,” said Sirius matter-of-factly. “If he had any say in the matter, he’d have chucked me out long ago.”

“Be quiet,” James shushed him. “You’re very dear to me.”

Sirius grinned. “I see what you did there.”

James managed to compose himself for only a second before he burst out laughing, hiding his face in the newspaper that he’d unravelled. The elderly owl sucked on his finger. Single-handedly, he shook the paper to flatten it and scanned the front page.

The main picture that grabbed his attention was one of a robust black lady, with a beehive hairdo and a shimmering dragon scale dress, lined with brilliant blue occamy feathers. She was dancing back and forth, lips to a microphone, pouring her soul out in silence. Every few seconds, she would twirl and wink up at James and he would blush. Down the side of the picture was a small headline reading, ‘ _Minister increases Dementor presence at Azkaban Prison.’_ Below that, squashed into the corner, was a picture of a woman, with one word, in block letters, emblazoned over her head: **MISSING.**

James let out a little noise and Remus looked at him cautiously. “What is it?”

“Celestina Warbeck is getting married to her manager!”

Remus’ shoulders collapsed and he rolled his eyes, casting a drying spell on himself and collecting some clothes. Sirius started laughing. “Well, that scuppers your plan to be her toyboy! You should gatecrash the wedding, Prongsie.” He waved his arms, adopting his best James Potter impression. “’ _I object! I object! Celestina, I’ve had our life planned out together ever since I was nine years old!’”_

James pursed his lips. “I was eight.”

“You could buy her new album at Dervish and Banges,” suggested Peter. “I’m sure she counts as a magical instrument. It’s music, after all.”

Remus scoffed. He was dressed now, in a brown jumper and flared jeans and sat on the edge of his bed, drying his hair with the towel. “Please, Peter. Celestina Warbeck isn’t music. She’s white noise.”

James recoiled. He forgot about the owl suckling his finger and threw down the Prophet. _“How dare you_ \- Remus Lupin, you take that back!”

Remus smirked a little bit and it restored a smidge of colour to his face. “Never. I shall stand by it so long as I live.”

James leapt for him and Remus, despite the aches and pains of his body, still had that damned sixth sense and was able to jump out of the way in no time. He launched the towel behind him as he made a run for it, managing to hook it on James’ head. The latter staggered blindly, reaching to tear it off so he could see again but before he could, Sirius grabbed him around the waist and lugged him onto the bed. Remus stopped behind Peter, grinning, as Sirius wrestled an indignant and blinder than usual James, who kept shouting, “Celestina didn’t ask for this kind of disrespect!”

The boys laughed. Sirius struggled to keep his hold on James because he was almost crying with mirth. They didn’t notice that the sky outside had turned dreary and grey, draining the sky of the autumn light. The wind beat against the window. The owl hooted and screeched. The black eyes of the missing woman stared at the ceiling.

**oOo**

In the end, Remus gave in. James had a feeling it was more because he didn’t have the energy to argue with Sirius than because he really wanted to go, but either way, the next hour saw the boys dressed up in their warmest clothing to brace the oncoming winter wind. It had dropped colder and crisper, made all the more freezing by the wind that ripped at their scarves and threatened to bite their noses. Still, the four boys stumbled down Hogwarts grounds, cloaks snug around their bodies, turning pink in the chill.

James’ hair was ravaged (he had the vague idea that his father would throw a fit if he could see him), and his glasses kept getting smudged with the spittle that the wind brought with it. He kept grabbing them to clear the lenses on his scarf, but even then, he had to squint to see. The others weren’t fairing much better. Remus had his head down, hands deep in his pockets. Sirius was spluttering, expression shrewd as he tried to protect his eyes from the ferocity of the wind. Peter looked like he was about to be blown away.

“Even if it’s temporary, it’d be nice to feel weather that didn’t make you feel so cold inside and out,” said James, having to raise his voice to be heard, and he rubbed his gloved hands up and down his arms. “September isn’t meant to be this rubbish, is it?”

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but a wet poster flew from beyond the mist and plastered itself across his face, smothering whatever he had to say. He fumbled for it, yells muffled. James reached to help him but his gloves meant that it was easier said than done to rip the paper from his mouth. Peter watched them concernedly. In the end, it was Remus who wrenched the poster away and released it to wreak chaos further up the track.

“You’re absurd,” he told Sirius.

Sirius looked affronted. “Moony, I could have _died.”_

“At least then we’d get some peace and quiet.”

“You’d never get any peace and quiet,” said Sirius smugly. “I’ve given Peeves a long list of instructions to enact on news of my death. It involves a lot of haunting. You’d positively hate it.”

Peter squealed with laughter. A grudging smile pulled at Remus’ lips. James noticed and his shoulders fell a little in relief.

When they reached Hogsmeade, they found refuge from the weather in the closest shop. Honeydukes, as usual, was an assault of colour and sweetness; there was a huge midnight blue display of Chocolate Frogs (advertising the new limited addition card of Andretta Anglesteen- a famous Seer who predicted the last sixteen consecutive Ministers of Magic) on one side of the room, and bunting of the everlasting lollypops hanging from the ceiling. A candyfloss plant was on show and twined up the wall, in pink pots, and there were rows and rows of sweets and chocolate, cramming the little building, with students filling up the empty space, chattering and gushing.

Peter immediately disappeared down one of the aisles. Sirius caught sight of Frank Longbottom and went to pull his ears. Remus looked a little pale.

James leaned in close and said, “Are you alright?”

Remus wavered. “The smell. It’s just a bit sweet.”

James was just about to tell him that he could wait outside if he preferred when he was waylaid.

“James!”

He spun around and saw Peter smiling lopsidedly at him from the end of the aisle. He beckoned him over, excitement streaming from his toothy grin and wide eyes. When James turned the corner, Peter stood with his hands behind his back. James frowned.

“What are you-?”

“Look!”

He pulled his hands out to reveal what he’d been holding. It was a small, white gobstopper, no bigger than a marble. James blinked at him.

“Pete, I’ve no idea what that is.”

“It’s a Debilitator,” he exclaimed.

“A what?”

“A Debilitator.” His eyes shone. A hint of a laugh made his voice waver. “It’s like Stupefy in ball form. You stick it in someone’s drink and they pass out for an hour!”

James started laughing, and he took the sweet from Peter, throwing it up and catching it. “Do you think it works on dogs?”

Peter laughed loudly, taking the gobstopper from James and looking at the bigger sizes. “These ones knock you out for longer,” he said.

“Buy one and we’ll slip it in Sirius’ goblet tonight,” James joked, clapping his friend on the back before wandering down the row.

He was drawn to the Chocolate Frog display, eagerly reading the little description for the new card. Knowing his luck, he’d just get another Flamel, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted, and he grabbed a handful of frogs before joining the queue behind Peter.

James looked around the shop. His height meant that he could see above everybody else’s heads but he still lost Sirius in the aisles. He caught sight of Remus though, who was even taller than he was, standing in front of the chocolate. James licked his chapped lips, then shoved his chocolate at Peter, dropping a few galleons into his hands. “Buy these for me, will you, Pete?”

He didn’t wait around for an answer but Peter gaped at the coins and said, “You’ve given me more than enough-!”

“Then you’ll have change!”

James weaved through the rest of the queue, skirting around the rows of sweets, before coming to a stop beside Remus. He ran a hand through his damp hair before shoving both of them in his pockets. "Are you buying any?"

He nodded his head towards the chocolate.

Remus gulped. “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean? D’you fancy some or not?”

“It’s not that simple, James.”

James frowned. He looked at his friend and he was surprised to see the indecision etched like agony across his face.

Abruptly, Remus started talking in a tone that was low and straining to be normal. "Chocolate is poisonous to dogs. There’s a toxic component in it called theobromine," he said, glancing at him, but he looked away just as quickly. "That’s what makes it poisonous. Humans can metabolise it easily, but dogs process it much more slowly, allowing the theobromine to build up to lethal levels in their system. Did you know that?"

James stared at him, and his brain and heart both hurt. He didn't know whether he could actually speak, but he cleared his throat and managed to say, "No, I didn't."

Remus turned to look at him then. His amber eyes were slightly wet, and James only noticed because of the way the light bounced off of the tears. He offered him a fleeting, painful smile and said, "Well now you do."

All of a sudden, Remus was shoved into him and he grappled for balance. James reached out, arms gripping his elbows in an attempt to keep them both upright. Once they had stopped falling, Remus wrenched himself from his hands and leapt into action. His wake was on fire; a whirlwind of fury that echoed off of him, and James could do nothing more than stand and stare as Remus reached for the boy who had been pushed into them. He was a third year, young and round-faced, and he only came up to Remus’ shoulders.

Remus twisted his hands in the boy’s shirt, pulling him up and ramming him against the shelves. A growl left his lips and the boy quivered with fear.

James didn’t even process the thought before he grabbed hold of his friend, ripping him away. He lifted Remus up and Sirius came out of nowhere, barging through the crowd, pulling the three of them out of the shop. They didn’t slow down or stop until they’d made it to the hidden alleyway down the side of the building, and it didn’t matter that it was still raining. Sirius shoved Remus against the wall.

Remus gritted his teeth in pain. His body temperature was fluctuating almost painfully, and his skin raged from boiling hot, to the point where he was sweating, to freezing cold, in seconds. James gripped his arm tighter.

“Why is the wolf still there?” asked Sirius in a low voice.

Remus’ breath fell from his lips and he went slack in his friends’ grasp. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s like- like it can sense something in the air.”

James watched him carefully. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know!” Remus’ voice was strained and James could see all the chords in his neck tighten as he fought to stay in control. “Like something is coming I’m unprepared for. The wolf feels these things and it knows it’s the stronger of the two so it’s trying to protect itself. I don’t know, James. The Full Moon is over now. I should be fine. I _am_ fine.”

“You just attacked a Third Year,” murmured Sirius. “A Hufflepuff, at that.”

Remus slumped against the wall, deflating, and the two boys let go of him. James folded his arms. His friend looked so defeated, burning with shame. He had to squeeze his forearms to refrain from holding Remus up himself.

“Remus,” he started. His voice was faint. “What’s going on? What can we do?”

But Remus just shook his head, closing his eyes again and leaving them closed. The darkness, the nothingness, was a relief. He felt so low. He’d never felt lower; this hollowing feeling that ate away at his chest was something that only Moony inflicted upon him.

James moved suddenly, gripping the back of his neck and pushing their foreheads together, giving Remus something to keep him grounded. He heard the pain in each of Remus’ breaths.

“What can we do?” James said again, more urgently.

But Remus just trembled, like a leaf in the ravenous wind, and James feared they couldn’t do anything.

**oOoOoOo**

**January 1973**

_“Are you sure?” Remus said shakily. “Are you sure you want to stay? I wouldn’t mind- I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you-“_

_“What?”_

_The dormitory was silent, and even though the winter rain eviscerated the window and a howling wind echoed down the chimney, it was like the world had dropped away. James knew. He’d suspected something since last year but he couldn’t quite figure out what. Over the summer and since getting back to Hogwarts, he’d spent hours in the library, trying to figure it out and he’d done it. Remus, their Remus, was a werewolf. Somehow, the information hadn’t shocked him. If anything, everything seemed to fall into place. But everything was skewed now- as soon as the word had left his lips, they’d exploded outwards. Things wouldn’t be the same for a very long time._

_Now, their Remus shook. He was white as the sky outside. He gulped, and began unsteadily, “If you wanted me kicked out of Hogwarts-“_

_“Kicked out?” Peter asked, his voice high-pitch from incredulity. “Why would we do that?”_

_Remus closed his eyes. He felt sick. He felt like his world was falling apart as he tried to grapple for the pieces. “Because- Because I’m a monster…”_

_“You’re being dramatic,” said Sirius. “You fold your socks, Remus. Forgive me if I’m not trembling at the sight of you.”_

_Remus looked at him carefully. He was crying, but each of his friends were sharp in focus. His body trembled and James remembered him as the pale and fading boy on the train, so fragile each bump threatened to upheave him._

_“So you’re not- you’re not afraid of me?” he asked. He spoke in a broken whisper, as though any louder would shatter everything and snap them into their senses. “You don’t… but…but, I mean… werewolves, they’re not exactly- popular… or safe. For all you know, I could be dangerous!”_

_James grinned, and the gesture felt weird but warm on his face. “Really, Lupin, what part of ‘you fold your socks’ isn’t getting through?”_

_Remus’ eyes clung to him, to the steadiness of his smile and James felt it grow a little bit stronger. He didn’t look away. He made sure his sincerity showed, exposed his heart and soul, because he knew Remus needed it._

_Sirius swallowed. He moved closer to him, slowly, so that Remus could back away if he wanted. “You said you’d be my friend,” he said in a low voice. “Remember? You promised. I wasn’t lying when I said you were extraordinary. This doesn’t refute it, it proves it.”_

_“It’s just a furry little problem,” said James, and Remus choked on his laughter. “Like a rabid rabbit for a pet, or fleas. Only yours is once a month, which makes it much more sporadic and bearable-”_

_Remus collapsed to his knees, and James rushed to him, propping him up. Sirius was on the floor too. Peter stood above them, too concerned to say anything._

_“Remus,” said James, checking his face worriedly. “Are you alright?”_

_The boy was crying, but he was flushed with something exuberant, something more alive than James had ever seen of him. He tried to speak but he couldn’t, so James made sure to hold him as he sobbed, gripping onto the back of his neck like his father always used to do to him, pressing their foreheads together, and he whispered, “It’s okay now, Remus. You don’t have to hide from us. Not anymore.”_


End file.
